Lighter Than Air
by scathach124
Summary: After six months away from home, Sybil is ready to fly back to London, but things don't go quite as smoothly as she hoped. But as fate would have it, a chance meeting at the airport with a friendly Irish man just might make a rough night into something much more.
1. The Delay

_A/N: Funny background to this – I actually got the idea for this after watching Wes Craven's Red Eye, though mostly from the first twenty minutes because it sets itself up as a romantic comedy. Naturally, I think Sybil/Tom are the ideal romantic comedy couple, so that's how this was born. No, Tom does not do what Cillian Murphy does in Red Eye, so don't worry – Sybil's perfectly safe :) . It's more of my idea of how the movie would be if it actually was a romantic comedy and not a thriller._

 _Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

 ** _Lighter Than Air_**

Chapter 1 – The Delay

 _Rain_ , Sybil thought. _It had to rain on a day like today_.

She didn't mind rain most days. Actually, she rather liked it, the way that it made the bricks smell and the grass dewy. But today it was shaping up to be worse than an inconvenience.

After her stint at Emory University Hospital in Atlanta that had lasted six months, Sybil was more than happy to return home to London. She had booked her ticket out of Hartsfield-Jackson, she had allowed herself enough time to pack all her things, and she had ordered her taxi to come to her apartment earlier than required so that she'd have plenty of time to make it through the airport (she was well aware that Hartsfield-Jackson was a madhouse at the best of times).

But the forecast, which had been continuously pleasant for the past week, had took a turn for the absolute worse: thunderstorms, heavy downpour, lightning, the works. Right as Sybil's taxi arrived at the apartment to pick her up the rain started to come down, and it only got worse on the drive to the airport. And if Atlanta traffic was dreadful on sunny days, then it was horrendous in a rainstorm. Either the cars on the highway were at a standstill or the taxi was swerving violently to avoid colliding with some plonker who shouldn't have been allowed behind the wheel of a vehicle. Almost every minute Sybil was checking her watch, noting as time seemed to race past her, the minutes counting down to her check-in time.

She was slumped against the leather seats, head turned to the window which the rainwater cascaded down, when her mobile phone rang.

"Hello?" she said, trying her best to sound chipper even though she was frustrated beyond belief.

"Sybil? Hi, it's Mary." Mary sounded groggy, like she hadn't had much sleep lately.

"Oh, hey," Sybil said.

"You doing alright? Are you at the airport yet?"

"No," Sybil sighed. "Stuck in traffic, at the moment. The rain here is so heavy, it's worse than when it was hurricane season."

"Oh dear," Mary murmured. "How far away are you from the airport?"

"I'm not sure," Sybil said. She looked at her watch again. "I'm supposed to check in in fifteen minutes. I honestly didn't think it would be _this_ bad. There must be a couple accidents on the road."

Mary made a huffy noise on the other end. "That's just convinced me never to take a trip to Georgia."

"I can't imagine you ever wanting to leave London," Sybil quipped. "So, is there any specific reason that you called me?"

"Not really, I just thought you'd be at the airport right now and have time to chat. Your flight's at ten, correct?"

"Yeah, red-eye flight on Delta. It was the only one I could book that was non-stop to Heathrow. Although with this weather I think it'll be delayed or cancelled altogether."

"Then relax—"

"Mary, I can't relax, I don't know what's going to happen when I get there," Sybil exclaimed. The stress was getting to her.

"Alright, just take a deep breath," Mary replied. "You'll get there when you get there. Is there any way you can check on the flight status right now?"

"I can't get an Internet connection from inside a cab, Mary," Sybil grumbled, "and I don't want to risk using mobile data and making my bill go up any higher."

"I see," Mary remarked. Suddenly her voice went garbled, and Sybil couldn't tell what Mary was saying anymore. Was the connection going out?

"Hello? Mary, are you still there?" Sybil pressed the voice closer to her mouth.

"What?" Mary's voice became clear again. "Sorry, that was just Matthew. Nothing important."

"You sure you want him to hear that?" Sybil joked.

Mary gave an exasperated groan that sounded like static through the receiver.

Sybil smirked, then frowned. "Wait a minute – what time is it over there, two in the morning? Why are the both of you still up?"

"Why do you think?" Mary sounded incredibly annoyed that Sybil didn't even try to make a guess. "George! Matthew's feeding him right now and I can't sleep."

"Ah," Sybil said sheepishly. "I should have realized it. It just seems so weird to me. The last time I saw you, you were as round as a planet—"

Mary snorted. "Thanks, Sybil. Really appreciate that."

"—and I haven't seen George yet. In my mind I keep thinking you're still pregnant."

"Believe me, I'm glad I'm not. Though I'm not sure that being forced awake in the middle of the night is much better than walking around like, as you said, a fucking planet."

Sybil heard Matthew's indistinct voice on the other end. Mary rebuked him with, "For God's sake, he's a baby; he can't understand a word I'm saying. So I can swear all I like, thank you very much."

 _Domestic tranquility_ , Sybil thought ironically to herself. But even if Mary and Matthew's new lives as parents seemed awfully chaotic, Sybil wouldn't mind being in their position. Being single had its perks, but she didn't believe she would spend the rest of her life going on random dates with people she'd never call back and not having the experience of parenthood. Seeing her sister and her husband go through it had only fueled her desire to have a married life. Of course, her work hadn't left much time to help that, but now that she was heading home, maybe her prospects would change.

If she ever got home, because at the rate the taxi was crawling, she would not be home for another century.

"Anyway," Mary continued, "you should call me back when you get to the airport and update me on the situation, okay?"

"No, I won't bother you anymore," Sybil replied. "You need to sleep."

"I'm not going to get to sleep for at least another week. I'm planning on a Netflix movie marathon for the rest of the night."

"Just try," Sybil insisted. "It's not going to make things any better if you don't try to get sleep. Sleeplessness is the worst condition a new mother can suffer from."

"Of course you would say that, the family nurse," Mary said dryly.

"I'm serious," Sybil said.

The taxi jolted forward, and Sybil wondered for a second if the traffic had finally cleared.

She smacked hard against the seat when the driver hit the brakes again. He muttered under his breath, "Damn it. These people couldn't drive straight to save their lives."

Sybil imagined Mary frowning as she asked, "Everything alright there?"

"Couldn't be better," Sybil said sardonically. On a more sisterly note, she added, "I can't wait to see you soon. And meet George, obviously. I've missed all of you so much."

"Oh stop that. We'll see each other tomorrow," Mary said.

Sybil sighed. "I just wish I was there already. I wish I were on the plane right now, not having to deal with this weather or any other shit I may have to deal with at the airport."

"You'll get through it, I promise."

"Yes, but will I go insane by the end of it?"

"If you haven't gone insane from six months in America, then I'm sure you will be fine."

"Thanks. Listen, I'm going to hang up now, let you get some rest."

"I won't get any, but alright. Have a safe flight."

"Thanks. Bye."

Sybil ended the call and slouched against the seat again. Her guess was that the taxi had only moved a mile during the phone call. She checked her watch yet again and groaned. "Bloody hell."

"Hey, don't worry, you'll still catch your flight," the taxi driver said.

"I've got ten minutes," Sybil retorted.

"Right," the driver mumbled.

Sybil's mind was in a daze for the rest of the ride. She had had absolutely no trouble leaving London, but going back was turning out to be a bloody pain in the arse. Even if the flight was delayed, it would probably be so for a really long time, and if it was cancelled she would need to make a hotel reservation for the night and then make sure another flight was booked. She was already exhausted, and likely was going to be in a very, _very_ bad mood by the time she got on a plane.

She thought she was going to scream with relief when the driver announced that they had made it. "Here we are. International terminal."

"Thank you so much," Sybil said rapidly as she rushed to pay the driver in cash. "Keep the change."

She got out of the car and the driver opened trunk so she could get her suitcases out of the back. Glancing quickly at her watch, she saw that she had two minutes.

"Shit," she grumbled as she shifted her backs around and dragged them through the automatic doors. She hastened through the terminal, trying to find the screens that listed the flight statuses. She wasn't sure what she wanted to see listed for her flight, if it was to be on time, delayed or cancelled. Definitely not cancelled, though; that would aggravate her even more than she already was.

She pushed through, the wheels of her suitcases clattering against the floor. When she finally caught sight of those blue-tinged screens she hurried over, getting as close as she could through the circle of other travellers surrounding the screens. She peered at the fuzzy televisions, searching for where her flight was listed.

 _Atlanta – London – 9:55 – Delayed_

Thank god; the plane wasn't going to leave without her.

But standing in the check-in line for over half-an-hour wasn't much of an improvement. It seemed almost every flight had either been delayed or cancelled, and there was a whole sea of people at the check-in lines. Every once in a while someone would call out to the lines, asking for anyone whose flight to Paris or Montreal had been cancelled so they could be rerouted. Sybil's feet ached even though she was wearing her combat boots, her most comfortable pair of shoes, and she was starting to get real tired of staring at one person's back for the duration of the wait. She had pulled out a paperback from her carry-on to pass the time, but she was constantly on alert for information about her flight or when the line she was standing in inched forward a tiny bit.

Out of sheer boredom, Sybil wondered if she should call Mary back, just so she had somebody to talk to. She doubted that Mary had actually taken her advice and gone back to bed. But at the moment she started to take her phone from her pocket, another employee started calling out to the lines, and she snapped her head up to listen to her.

"Anyone who was scheduled on the 10:17 flight to Toronto, please come to the front of the line now so we can reroute you. Again, anyone who was on the 10:17 to Toronto, if you want to get out of Atlanta tonight …"

 _I sure would like to get out of Atlanta tonight,_ Sybil thought. She didn't have any ill feelings about Atlanta after her stay, but more than anything she wanted to get home as soon as possible.

She was about to return to her book, but in the next line over, a man raised his voice so harshly that she nearly jumped out of her skin.

"This is ridiculous! How many of us have been standing in this damn line for over an hour?" he snapped.

"I understand sir, but these people will miss the last flight tonight if they don't—" the woman tried to assert.

"Oh sure, so it doesn't matter that _I've_ been rerouted already and I'm still standing here …"

Sybil rolled her eyes. Another corporate arsehole that thinks he can get his way by complaining. She saw enough of those at the hospital front desk, and they were all hell to deal with.

"Sir please, if you could just—" the woman started, holding up her hand.

The man ignored her. "Who's in charge here? Get 'em over here and get this line moving for Christ's sake!"

Sybil slapped her book closed – hearing people gripe like that, even if they were tired and frustrated, was absurd and she could not stand it one bit. "Sir, back off. Don't hound her."

The man turned to Sybil. "I wasn't talking to you."

"No, I realize that, but I'm telling you to leave her alone," Sybil said firmly. "I'm sure she's doing the best she can to help us all—"

"Well she's not doing much," the man spat.

From behind Sybil, a hand reached out and grabbed the man's arm. Sybil whipped her head around to see someone, about her age, who was looking plenty exhausted and just as pissed off at the whinging business man as she was.

"Please sir, she's right. Don't bully the poor woman, she's just taking orders and doesn't have any control over what she can tell us. And she's probably been working for far too long and has already had to deal with enough crap today."

"Yeah well, I'm just trying to—" the businessman said sharply.

"Yes, and she gets it, but I highly doubt any of this is her fault. You arguing is keeping her from doing her job, so just give her a break," the man behind Sybil returned.

The businessman's mouth hung open but he said nothing – Sybil guessed that he was just stunned that strangers were dissuading him from making trouble. She shot the man a warning look that Mary often flashed when being were being difficult and needed to be stopped.

Finally, the businessman wrenched his arm out of the other man's grasp and leaned against his suitcase, glaring. "I'm going to file a complaint against this airline when I get to Montreal."

"I'm sure they'll be looking forward to it," Sybil muttered.

She turned around to face the man who backed her up. Something about him had struck her as odd, but certainly not in the way he looked. He was maybe a little older than her, and only a bit taller than her. And there was no denying that he was definitely attractive in her mind. His brown hair was mussed, as if he had already spent several hours on a plane. But it was his blue eyes that made Sybil's mind utter an enamoured _whoa_.

She smiled shyly at the man. "Thank you for that."

The man shrugged. "It was nothing, really. You started it," he said. "I mean, you stood up for that poor woman first."

"Yeah, I suppose," Sybil said. She brought her voice lower since the haughty businessman was still standing in the line next to them and was well within hearing range. "I just can't stand people who act like they run the universe."

"Same here," the man replied.

Sybil smiled and nodded. "Are you from Ireland, by any chance?"

The man chuckled. "The accent gave it away, yeah?"

"Of course," Sybil admitted. "A voice like yours stands out here."

"Well, so does yours," the man said. "In more ways than one."

Sybil laughed out loud at this. "I've had it pointed out to me plenty."

She worried her lip, wondering if she was blushing just a little. The man cleared his throat.

"So, you on this insanely delayed flight to London as well?" he asked.

Sybil sighed and answered, "Yep. Though at this rate I'm not sure I'll ever get back."

"I'm sure you will," the man said. "Delays don't last forever."

"I know, it just seems that …" Sybil trailed off. She had only just met this guy standing behind her, she didn't even know his name – but suddenly she felt like spilling out her thoughts and frustrations to him. _Get a grip, you dolt_ , she scolded herself.

"Er, never mind. It's nothing," she said, ducking her head in her awkwardness.

"Okay," the man said, not appearing to be bothered by Sybil cutting off the conversation. "I'm sorry, I was bothering you. It's my fault."

"It's alright. It's not your fault," Sybil told him. "I'm just getting ahead of myself. It's been a long day."

"I understand," the man said.

Sybil turned away and faced the check-in desks again, opening her book to resume her chapter. She could feel the man's blue eyes staring at the back of her head – not in a sort of threatening way, but just curious.

And frankly, though she wasn't conscious of it, so was she.

* * *

 _A/N: I lived in Atlanta when I was kid, so I chose the airport to be Hartsfield-Jackson and for Sybil to work at Emory mainly for personal reasons. I applied to Emory University last year, but I didn't get in, though I think Sybil would have no problem getting a job there ;)._

 _I hope you like it so far!_


	2. The Wait

Chapter 2 – The Wait

After another dreadfully long period of waiting, Sybil finally got called up to the desk. The flight was still delayed, the departure time being systematically pushed back further and further, but at least she was relieved of one heavy bag now. She also now had a boarding pass in hand, which had to account for one small victory tonight.

When she started off to the security check lines, she glanced back quickly at the Irish man she had spoken to briefly. He didn't notice her looking at him, thank goodness, since he was talking to the woman behind the desk and searching for his passport inside one of his pockets. Sybil realized she had stopped for no apparent reason other than to stare at the man; she felt like slapping herself. Honestly, nothing was going to happen between the two of them anymore. He had simply helped her tell off an impertinent businessman – they probably wouldn't have talked at all if that hadn't happened. Sure, if they were on the same flight they'd see each other again, but most likely their seats were far apart. They had had their interaction, and now it was time to go forward.

 _Wow,_ Sybil thought bluntly. _I really need to sleep if I'm starting to sound like the start of a romantic comedy_.

She trudged to the security checkpoint, untying her combat boots while she was still in the line and trying her best to take off her coat, put her laptop in a separate bin, and hoist her carry-on onto the conveyor belt as fast as she possibly could. She was spared the humiliation of a pat-down and retrieved her things without any problem, lacing up her boots again once she was cleared to move on to the gates. The whole ordeal of air travel late at night was utterly draining, especially when by now she should be in the air and on her way across the pond.

Navigating through the huge airport only tired her out more; even late at night, Hartsfield-Jackson was still bustling like an angry beehive. By the time she reached her gate, Sybil wanted to fall asleep right then and there. On the board it still said the flight was still delayed for an obscene amount of time, even though outside Sybil could see the rain was not coming down so severely.

She sat down to catch her breath for a few minutes, wondering if she should get something to eat. She remembered that Mary had told her to call her back to give her an update, but she didn't feel much like talking to her sister the insomniac. It would just negate her advice for Mary to try and sleep, even though the probability that she was still wide awake was high. And everyone else she thought about talking to would either be asleep or not in the mood to be disturbed.

Her stomach grumbled so harshly that she could feel it moving inside her, confirming her that she needed something in her since she knew she would not touch the airplane food. Even if her legs felt like lead, she picked up her things again and walked down the hallway, passing by multiple restaurants, looking for something good to eat. She deserved something tasty – weeks of hospital cafeteria food for lunch and frozen dinners hadn't satisfied her in the culinary aspect. The choices here, however, were not very diverse, but after a few minutes she came to a bar and grill that looked alright. She was awfully hungry and didn't want to waste time searching for another place, so she went up to it and looked at the menu tacked up on the wall. Nothing outlandish for an American grill: hamburgers, sandwiches, a variety of appetizers ...

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something that made her heart skip a beat. She found herself, staring against her better judgment.

The Irish man she had met in the check-in line was sitting at the bar, one arm propped against the back of his chair, the other hand tapping against the wood finish of the counter. There wasn't anything in front of him, so he must have just gotten there and was waiting for his drink in the meantime. The barstool next to him was vacant.

Sybil stood blankly at him, wondering what he'd think if she walked up to him and asked to have the empty seat next to him. She certainly wasn't looking to try to flirt or start something with him – and she was hoping he wouldn't pin that on her – but what she felt she needed right now, along with food and maybe a drink, was a bit of company. He had been so nice to her in the check-in line, and while she was talking with him Sybil had felt … what was the right word? Comfortable? Trusting? Something along those lines or not at all?

Still, he looked as if he could use someone to talk to just as much as she did. And him being rather attractive certainly wasn't going to deter her.

Sybil pulled her suitcase between the tables and chairs, many of which were filled with travellers despite it being so late. Both nervous and determined, she approached the bar, wondering what in the world she was going to do when he saw her.

The Irish man looked up from the countertop and spotted Sybil nearby – he smiled. "Hello."

"Hello," Sybil repeated. She pointed to the empty barstool next to him. "Is this taken?"

"No, go ahead," the man said, gesturing for Sybil to sit. Sybil climbed onto the high bar stool, sitting so that she wasn't directly facing the man but angled slightly more towards the bar.

"So," she said shortly, not really having an idea about what to talk to the man about. She wasn't about to sit awkwardly next to him until she decided it was time to go back to the gate.

"So," the man echoed. "Think we should start off with names?"

"Why not?" Sybil shrugged. "Sybil Crawley."

"Tom Branson."

"Tom," Sybil said, finally glad that she could put a name to that (gorgeous) face.

"Yeah, not really that memorable," Tom said. "Sybil … that's a nice name. Like the greek oracle?"

"Sort of. Different spelling. The y and the i are switched up," Sybil explained.

"I see," Tom said.

The bartender slid over a tall glass filled with a drink that Sybil recognized. "Guinness?" she guessed.

"Yep. Good old Guinness," Tom said, taking a sip from the glass. "Wasn't in the mood anything crazy tonight. This delay is enough to make me go insane. So what'll you have?"

"Sorry?" Sybil had to take a second to realize what Tom was implying. "No, you don't have to—"

"It's alright," Tom assured her. "Take your pick. I won't judge."

Sybil shifted in her seat, squinting as she deliberated over a drink. "Could I have a Manhattan?" she asked.

Tom whistled, and Sybil glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "What?"

"Nothing, it's just … you don't seem like a whiskey type of girl. Even for me, it's quite strong," Tom explained. "But I am impressed."

"Well, my family thinks I'm mental," Sybil said. "I'm the only one of my sisters who drinks anything besides wine or champagne."

"Hmm," Tom mumbled.

The bartender delivered her drink, and Sybil took a cautious sip. It never failed to give her a strong rush to the head when she swallowed it, and she tried to hide her involuntary grimace from Tom.

Still, he might have noticed. "That alright?" he asked.

"Yeah, it's fine," Sybil said quickly, taking another sip to prove it. It wasn't bad, but only a little too bitter for her tastes.

"I also ordered some nachos, if you want to steal some off the plate," Tom added.

"Oh, I love those," Sybil said excitedly.

"Really?"

Sybil nodded. "Again, my family thinks I'm crazy, but while I've been here I've gotten to really like the food here."

"That's good. A bit odd though," Tom said. "I've never heard of a Briton liking nachos."

"I'm just full of surprises tonight," Sybil said smugly. "Manhattans, nachos …"

She trailed off, suddenly wondering how stupid the words were sounding out loud. Could the drink already be loosening her tongue? But Tom chuckled a bit in genuine amusement, and Sybil couldn't help but laugh along with him. It was the same feeling that she had had when talking to him for the first time, back in the check-in line – she was comfortable next to him. For some reason, she didn't feel so awkward that she stammered or censored her words so harshly that she sounded stiff or cold. Instead, it was a bit like talking with someone she had known for a while, maybe someone she held a slight interest in.

 _Could I really be this comfortable with someone I only just met_? she thought. _This has never happened before, though._

She couldn't remember ever feeling this way with another person. It was so bizarre for her, but she'd whack herself with a brick if she was going to do anything to cut this time short. After all, once they got on the plane, odds were they wouldn't be able to talk anymore.

A server in a polo shirt came up behind Tom. "Here are your nachos, sir. Careful, hot plate."

"Thank you," Tom said. "Help yourself," he told Sybil.

Sybil took a few, eager to quell her churning stomach. "It feels like hours since I last ate," she mentioned.

"Me too," Tom said, biting into a tortilla chip.

The PA system chimed and a female voice spoke aloud the local time. _It feels like I'm going to be here half the night,_ Sybil thought with disdain. Though as long as she was sitting next to Tom Branson, eating nachos and sipping a Manhattan, the wait wouldn't seem so bad.

"So," Tom started, "what brought you to Atlanta?"

"Work," Sybil said. "I was at Emory University hospital for the last six months."

"Whoa," Tom breathed. "Are you a doctor, or—?"

"Nurse, actually," Sybil corrected. "Sort of a work placement."

Tom took a swallow of his Guinness. "Emory's a good place, so I hear. Did you like it?"

"I did," Sybil nodded. "I didn't think I would, being so far away from home, but I got used to it. And I liked Atlanta a lot; I explored downtown when I had the time off. But most of my time was spent at the hospital. But it was good: I was kept busy, which is infinitely better than sitting on my ass behind a desk, and now I've got real experience. Though now I know more about the American healthcare system than I ever wanted to."

"And now you're heading home," Tom said.

"Yes. Well, trying."

"Must be a real treat for you – six months away from home and now you're getting held back by a stupid thunderstorm."

Sybil let out a grumble. She leaned her elbow on the countertop and rested her chin in her hand. "If only we had some idea as to when we might board. I can't tell anyone back home that I'm stuck here because they're all asleep. Well, most of them."

"Yeah, real convenience being five hours apart," Tom commented.

"So what were _you_ doing in Atlanta?" Sybil asked him.

"Business," Tom answered simply. "There were these conferences this past week that I had to be at. It's all boring stuff."

"What do you do that's so boring?" Sybil questioned.

"It's not the job that's boring, so to speak. I'm a political journalist, and I get sent all over the world. I like the travel, seeing all the nice cities. It's what I have to sit through and then critique is what gets my goat."

"Huh," Sybil muttered. She always imagined journalists to be almost like spies, delivering hard-hitting stories at the scene of the crime. The way Tom put it, it didn't seem like a glamorous job. "I suppose you fly a lot then."

"All the time. And believe me, it's a great deal of fun," Tom said sarcastically.

"Oh, I believe you," Sybil agreed. "The delays, cancellations—"

"Corporate arseholes that need to shut up," Tom intervened. He cringed. "Sorry, that was a bit rude."

Sybil waved it off. "Don't apologize. I heard bad language all the time. It's quite stunning how patients who've just gotten out of heart surgery can still swear _so much_."

Both she and Tom laughed. "That must have been … interesting," Tom said.

"But it was," Sybil said. "Honestly, I don't know what's going to happen when I go home. I'm probably going to apply for a job at the hospital, but besides that …"

Besides that, her life was just a straight line. Day to day, as normal as any life could be. As far as she could remember, her life was ordinary; there were no big surprises, no sudden romances, nothing to jump out and send her on some thrilling adventure. Working at Emory was the most intrepid thing she had done, but even so, it was insipid compared to what she imagined the lives of her family and friends to be. She wanted to wake up each and every day feeling that she was living the best life she could. Going into nursing had given her some of that, but somehow she didn't feel like that was enough.

She raised her eyes again to Tom, waiting patiently for her to come out of her internal thoughts. "Sorry, I was just …" She grabbed another nacho so she wouldn't have to give a reason for her pause.

"No, it's okay. I zone in and out all the time," Tom said.

"I don't often. I'm usually quite focused," Sybil admitted.

"I'm sure you have to, being a nurse and all," Tom said. "Well, as long as your tenure at Emory was a success, I'm sure you'll have many more to come."

He raised his half-filled glass of Guinness, and Sybil raised her cocktail. "To your future as an accomplished nurse."

"And to yours as a political journalist," Sybil added.

As they clinked their glasses lightly, Sybil wondered if the twinkle in Tom's eye was intentional or just her tired eyes playing tricks on her. She felt her skin on her cheeks grow warm as she sipped her drink. _God Sybil, if you're blushin_ g …

The PA system chimed again, but this time the voice blaring on it was human. "Delta flight 30, service to London Heathrow Airport is now cleared for boarding."

From the gate and inside the restaurant, there was scattered clapping and sighs of relief. "I think that's us," Sybil said.

"The storm must have passed," Tom surmised. "I'm surprised it ended so soon."

 _I'm sorry it ended so quickly_ , Sybil thought. She did not feel that the time they had spent together was nearly enough. It was pleasant while it had lasted though, and she was glad that she had found someone to keep company with during the wait.

"Well, it was very nice having a chat with you, Tom," she said. "Really, I enjoyed it very much."

 _That sounded so stiff_ , she thought, mentally cringing. _It was so … final._

"Yeah, me too," Tom said in return.

Sybil slid off of her barstool and started patting around her jacket pockets for her wallet. Before she could pull it out, Tom had already placed a wad of bills on the countertop.

"Oh no, I've got it—" she protested.

"No, allow me," Tom said, leaving no room for Sybil to argue with him. "The drink was my treat for you, and everything else was mine, so…"

Sybil's lips quirked in humble gratitude. "Thanks. That's kind of you."

"It's not a problem, I promise," Tom assured her.

Sybil opened her mouth to say something – another thank you, maybe a good-bye, but at that second her phone buzzed in her pocket. "Oh! That's mine."

She pulled it out and saw who was calling her. She made a face. "You've got to be kidding."

"Is something wrong?" Tom asked.

"No, I don't think so. It's just my sister," Sybil explained. She looked sheepishly at Tom. "I should take it anyway. Just wait a minute, please."

She answered the call and said in a hurried voice, "Mary, hi. Can you just hold on for a second?"

Mary mumbled, "Uh, sure."

Sybil took the phone away from her ear and look back to Tom. "I'm probably going to be at this for a while, so I think I … it was nice meeting you," she blurted out.

"It was nice to meet you too," Tom nodded. "Have a good flight. And good luck back in London. You'll do great, I'll sure."

"Thanks. Good luck to you too," Sybil said, smiling.

Tom raised the handle of his suitcase and exited the restaurant, heading for the gate to board. Sybil watched him leave, not taking her eyes off him until he was out of sight.

 _I wonder if I should have asked for his phone number,_ she mused.

Sighing, she took a last sip of her drink. From the phone, she heard Mary's muffled voice. "Sybil? You still there?"

"Yes, I'm here," Sybil answered.

"Oh, good. I take it you're still stuck at the airport?"

"I was, but they called us to board just now," Sybil said.

Mary heaved a relieved sigh. "Thank God. Least now you don't have to spend one more night in Atlanta."

"I sure am grateful for that," Sybil said. She started to gather up her things, holding the phone between her ear and her shoulder. She began to make her way towards the gate, pulling her carry-on behind her.

"Though I imagine you've been bored out of your skull from waiting," Mary continued.

Sybil paused. "Uh, yeah. It's been dreadful."

Was there really any use in telling her about Tom Branson? Probably not. Though …

"Actually, it was only dreadful up until I got past security," she went on to say. "But I met this guy who was on the same flight as I and—"

"Oh good lord," Mary muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing, keep going. What did you do?"

"Well, he was very nice. We hung out at a bar near the gate and talked for a little while. He bought me a drink and we shared a plate of nachos."

Mary snorted. "Sounds real nice."

"Oh shut up," Sybil retorted. "It kept me from going insane with the waiting, and … he was quite sweet. I mean, we just had small talk mostly, about our work and such. It didn't go on for too long, but it was nice having someone to chat with, face to face. And he was Irish."

"Fancy that," Mary said with mock fascination.

"It was sort of odd. After all, I've been surrounded by Americans for the past few months. It was like hearing a familiar voice that I haven't heard in a long while."

"I thought you said you just met him," Mary said skeptically.

"I did – I mean – ugh." Sybil was approaching the gate where a horde of people were gathered around the desk, boarding passes in hand. "Mary, I can't talk for much longer now, I'm going to board in a few minutes."

She said that partially because it was true – the gate was in sight – and also because she needed to avoid giving Mary reason to keep her from jumping down her throat about Tom Branson.

Mary didn't seem to notice Sybil's tactic. "Alright, then. The sooner you get on that plane, the better."

"And the sooner I get home, the sooner I can tell you how utterly ridiculous you are for still being awake in the dead of the night."

"For God's sake Sybil, I told you I won't sleep for another week. I can't help it that my hormones are still out of whack."

Sybil groaned. She stepped close to the line leading to the entrance of the jet bridge. "I'm going to have to hang up right now Mary, I need to find my boarding pass."

"Fine, fine. Have a safe flight, and let me know as soon as you land so I can send Matthew to pick you up."

"Thanks, Mary. Now go to sleep."

Sybil ended the call and shoved her phone in her pocket as she rummaged around her bag for her boarding pass, stuck conveniently inside her passport. The line moved forward gradually, the airline representative at the kiosk methodically scanning and ripping the tickets and sending the passengers through the tunnel with a bright red smile. Sybil craned her head to see to the front of the line, wondering if she might catch a glimpse of Tom Branson one last time, but he wasn't there anymore. He must be already on the plane.

She stepped up to the kiosk and handed the airline representative her ticket. "Have a good flight," the woman said automatically.

"Thanks," Sybil mumbled.

She trudged down the narrow grey jet bridge, backed up slightly because of the huge number of people about to enter the plane. Instinctually, she took a deep breath. She didn't have an immense fear of flying, but there was always this sense of nervousness whenever she stepped onto a plane, or watched it rise high above the earth through the tiny window. Just the mental reminder that there was nothing between her seat and the ground thousands of feet below her but the skeleton of the plane was enough to unnerve her. That's the way her life would be for several hours, skimming through the air, unable to do anything until the plane landed in London.

Anything could happen.


	3. Takeoff

Chapter 3 – Takeoff

Sybil stepped through the narrow entryway and pulled her suitcase over the threshold. To her left she saw at the pilots sitting in the cockpit, and she nodded shortly as the young flight attendant welcomed her aboard. Another attendant was already speaking over the intercom, currently saying something about dimming the lights for the duration of the flight, overhead lights being activated by the control panel on the armrest, so on and so forth about things Sybil had heard dozens of times before. All she needed for this flight was a tolerable neighbour and a low volume so she might hope to get some shut-eye.

Her eyes shifted around at the travellers already sitting in the wide comfy business class seats – mostly men in snappy suits, one woman with her sunglasses still on, two sullen-faced teenagers. Sybil had flown business class plenty of times before, but not for years, not since the last time her whole family travelled together. She could still afford a first-class seat, but only barely, and Sybil believed there were better things she could spend that money on. Even so, she glanced at all those roomy rows and the people sitting in them with slight envy as she moved down the aisle into the coach section.

Here almost half of the seats were already occupied with worn-out, frustrated, or just plain indifferent passengers. Sybil looked around at the tight spaces, praying that she'd have a neighbour that didn't take up too much room or made a mess of things. She sucked in a jaded breath as she heard a baby yowl from several rows ahead. Every few seconds she had to halt as someone blocked the aisle to lift their carry-on into the storage bins, quite a few of which probably shouldn't have been let onto the plane at all due to their enormity.

 _Air travel really does bring out the worst in people_ , she silently grumbled.

There were two seats next to each window and three in the middle section. Sybil checked her ticket – 17-G. Thank goodness she wouldn't be one of the poor souls squished in the centre seat of the middle section. She probably had a window seat, which meant she'd have someone between her and the aisle, but it wouldn't be so claustrophobic as the absolute middle.

In her head she counted up as her eyes ran across the numbers below the storage bins. 14 … 15 … 16 … she stopped shy of row 17 as she waited for a man to finish pushing his bulging suitcase into the bin above.

"Do you need any help?" she asked him.

"No, I've got it, just hold on a second," the man answered. He shifted the case around until it was in a position where the lid to the bin might barely be able to close. He moved away from Sybil's row, taking his seat in the middle section. Sybil looked at the row number on her boarding pass and then below the storage bin to double check that she had it right—

 _Oh my God._

Tom Branson, sitting in the aisle seat of her row, looked up at her. She stared back, dumbstruck.

"Ah … hi," she breathed.

Tom smiled, saying, "Hello again."

Sybil forced a smile, still genuinely shocked that they had crossed paths – for the third time tonight, no less. "Well, this is … um …"

 _Awkward? Pleasantly surprising? The very last thing she had expected?_

She pointed to the empty window seat. "That's actually my seat," she said hesitantly.

"Wait, really?" Tom asked.

Sybil nodded, looking at her ticket for proof. "Yeah, 17-G. Unless there's been a mistake … which I doubt. It looks genuine."

"That is just crazy," Tom said, glancing at Sybil's boarding pass in incredulity. "What an unbelievable coincidence."

"I know," Sybil said in similar disbelief.

She hadn't guessed she would be sitting next to Tom on this flight – there were so many seats on this plane, the chances had been slim, or so she first thought. She felt like some higher being had answered her prayers for a bearable neighbour and gifted her with the best possible person.

"Just as well, then. Here, let me get that for you," Tom said about her suitcase. He got up from the seat and reached for the handle, his fingers brushing against Sybil's hands.

"No no, it's fine, I've—" Sybil protested.

But she let go of the suitcase handle anyway, allowing Tom to push it down. "I insist; you go sit down."

He took the suitcase in both hands and lifted it up to the open storage bin. Sybil smiled at him, appreciating his thoughtfulness as she slid into the narrow row. Her head bumped against the low ceiling and she quickly slumped into her seat, hoping Tom hadn't noticed her clumsiness. She pushed her other bag under the seat in front of her as Tom retook his.

There was a beat of silence between the two of them. All around them were people scuffling, trying to lift their bags into the overhead compartments as quickly as possible, the baby still wailing somewhere, the intercom talking about complementary drinks and dinner options.

"Well. What are the odds?" Tom said offhandedly.

Sybil, with a slight smile, replied, "I hope you don't think I'm stalking you."

Tom looked at her. "What? No, I – I hadn't considered it, actually. Are you?"

"Don't worry, I'm not," Sybil laughed, "I'm just as surprised as you are about this."

 _But it's a nice surprise_ , she thought.

The intercom buzzed again. "Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for the delay, we should be moving away from the jet bridge in a few minutes. Once all carry-on items are stowed away, please take your seats so we can get you to London before Christmas."

There was scattered chuckling. A couple more passengers filed past, though the noise level had lowered somewhat. Quite a few had pulled the magazines out of the seat pockets and were absently flipping through them just to stave off the monotony of still being on the ground. Some had already pulled out those crescent-shaped neck pillows and were waiting for the cabin lights to turn off so they could sleep, or at the very least try to.

Sybil glanced out the window, seeing the orange lights illuminate the concrete. They hadn't moved from the jet bridge yet. Would this plane ever get into the air like it was supposed to?

She couldn't see with her head turned away, but Tom was looking in the same direction as she was. "D'you think they're keeping us here on purpose?"

Sybil looked at him quizzically. "What? Like a conspiracy or something?"

Tom shrugged. "You never know."

"I'd rather not think about that possibility. We were only delayed because of the rain. But I do hope that it doesn't turn into one of those intense thriller films – killer on a plane, or someone goes missing mid-flight, that sort of thing." Her gaze ran across the cabin. "Being thousands of feet above the ground is scary enough for me."

"Do you not like flying?" Tom asked.

"I don't have a fear of it, so to speak," Sybil explained. "There are parts of it that make me nervous. that's all. Like taking off, or turbulence."

Tom nodded, understanding. "I'm sure everybody gets nervous when the plane hits turbulence."

"I like smooth flights," Sybil went on. "When the plane jolts or something it just reminds me that I'm in a metal tube, and that the ground is a long way down. And we'll be over the ocean for most of the time on this flight. Then it makes me wonder if something is about to go wrong, like an engine's stopped or the wings are going to snap off."

"Does it help to keep telling yourself that things like that almost never happen?" Tom suggested.

Sybil shook her head. "I've always seen it as 'what can go wrong, will go wrong.' Maybe that's just a bit of my training bleeding through. As a nurse, I have to be prepared for anything that might happen."

"Well … do you need someone to hold your hand?"

Sybil and Tom looked at each other, and neither seemed to be capable of moving. Tom seemed mortified at his own words. His jaw twitched, as if he was trying to say something but whatever he wanted to say kept slinking back into this mouth. Finally, he managed to blurt out a string of apologetic stammering.

"Oh God, that was – shit, I'm sorry – I don't know why I said that – I just—"

"Tom, it's … it's okay," Sybil tried to assure him.

Tom inhaled nervously. "Are you sure? I shouldn't have—"

"I forgive you," Sybil said. She gave him a placable smile. "We'll just blame it on the alcohol."

"Yeah," Tom sighed, still abashed at himself. "Yeah, that sounds reasonable. It's the alcohol talking. No more Guinness for me."

"I'm cutting you off for the rest of the flight," Sybil said, remembering that they served cocktails on this flight.

The screens attached to the backs of the seats in front of them flickered on, showing a plane flying serenely through a bright blue sky. "Thank you for flying Delta Airlines today," the peppy voice in the speakers began. "Our first priority on this flight is your safety, so please pay attention to this brief presentation …"

 _Ah yes, the inescapable safety information_ , Sybil thought dryly. Most of the people on the plane could probably regurgitate all of the emergency procedures word-for-word, including herself. Nothing in the video would help her with any level of anxiety she was feeling right now – the recent storm was bound to cause some turbulence, and Sybil forced herself not to think about what else could possibly go wrong.

 _Shit, stop freaking out over nothing_ , she thought. Why, all of a sudden, was she mentally panicking? She had flown plenty of times and nothing had ever gone horribly wrong. _It's the stress_ , she told herself. _It's just stress from the delay and the waiting_. _You're just being nervy_.

She turned towards Tom; his eyes were fixed at the screen, but he seemed lost in his own thoughts. The poor man must have been terribly embarrassed with what he had said earlier. Surely he had meant nothing by it, and Sybil wasn't angry with him at all. He _had_ drunk a pint of beer earlier, so that had to be the reason he had said it. He hadn't said it to be creepy or pervasive, and she wasn't unnerved by it at all. That was all there was to it.

Though, Sybil remembered, he had spoken coherently and without a trace of sarcasm. He had spoken as if he had genuinely been offering to hold her hand. That baffled Sybil: had he truly meant it? Did she seem like she needed a hand to hold on to? She looked down at her own hands and found both of them were gripping the armrests tightly.

 _Sybil Crawley, you are too old to be acting like a scaredy-cat_.

The safety video ended and the seatbelt sign _binged_ on. There was the repeated metal snapping of buckles, and both Sybil and Tom followed through. Sybil tightened her belt across her lap as much as she comfortably could. The intercom buzzed again.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we ask at this time to please turn off all electronic devices, including cell phones, laptop computers – a list of approved devices can be found in the back of the magazine in your seat pocket. The use of cell phones are not permitted during the flight unless they are in airplane mode …"

Sybil leaned down and fished for her phone in her bag. After this moment, Mary wouldn't be able to hound her anymore – she'd be without communication on either side. She shut it off and stuffed it back inside just as the main lights turned off. It became very dark, though random people began to turn on their individual reading lights. Likewise, Tom reached up and turned the tiny white light over his head, illuminating his face.

"Wait – I'm sorry, are you going to want to sleep?" he asked Sybil.

Sybil shook her head. "No, I don't think I'm going to be able to."

The plane lurched and began to pull back from the jet bridge. The roar of the engines filled the cabin. _This is it,_ Sybil thought _. Just breathe easy. You'll be fine. You'll be home soon_.

"Welcome aboard to this flight from Hartsfield-Jackson to Heathrow," the pilot said over the intercom as the plane moved down the long stretch of asphalt. "Thank you for your patience tonight, we are now cleared for takeoff. The weather conditions may cause a bumpy takeoff, but we'll climb above it quickly, so don't worry. Flight attendants, please take your seats and secure the cabin for take off. Enjoy your flight."

Sybil sighed at the mention of 'bumpy takeoff.' She had been worried about that, and now that the plane was moving and the lights were off, it seemed even more alarming now.

The plane manoeuvred around, slow at first as it turned corners to get to the runway. The high-pitched whine of the engines surrounded the cabin, sounding like an Arctic wind. In the row where Sybil and Tom were, close to the wing, it was awfully loud and the temperature inside seemed even colder with the engines howling. Yet overall the passengers were quiet. The baby had miraculously stopped bawling, and it seemed that everyone else was holding their breath, waiting for the plane to take off. Sybil inhaled in an attempt to be calm as she peered out the window. The terminal moved out of sight as the plane finally turned down the runway. It stopped for a moment, and Sybil froze as she braced herself for the rush of speed about to come.

Somehow, her heart was still pounding with agitation. Her hands had once again found themselves attached to the armrests, her fingers curled around tightly. Her stomach was clenched and it was impossible to relax herself at this moment.

"Actually, Tom … I think I might like that hand now," she muttered shyly.

Her eyes were fixed at the top of the seat in front of her, and she didn't move a muscle. When she felt his hand slide over hers she didn't flinch, much to her surprise. He felt warm (odd because of the chill in the cabin) and his fingers gently rested across her own grasping the armrest. There wasn't any tremor or clamminess that she could feel. He was calmer than she was, that was for certain.

The plane started to move again, bouncing Sybil in her seat slightly. It felt like they were running just as an earthquake was occurring. The whine of the engines grew louder and higher as the plane roared up to speed. The lights of the airport rushed past as blurs in the window. Sybil remained perfectly still, her jaw clenched as the plane raced faster and faster, pressing her back into her seat.

All the while, Tom did not move his hand off of hers. She concentrated on the feeling of his hand, the sensation of unfamiliar skin, this small form of comfort being afforded to her. How could it be that she felt just a little bit safer with this person whom she had met only hours before and barely knew anything about besides work life?

In a split second, they were in the air. For a few seconds, the plane lifted smoothly up.

Then there was a jolt of turbulence, and Sybil felt her stomach drop. She wished she could block her ears from the typical creaking of an aircraft now in flight, because now she was worried they really were the sounds of the wings about to break off. She shut her eyes as she felt the plane jostle up and down for what seemed like forever. Her fingers gripped the armrest tighter, but Tom did not remove his hand. She tried her best to breathe evenly, to stay still, to convince herself that this was all normal. The pilot had said the takeoff would be bumpy, and they'd get over it soon.

Although Tom's voice was soft, she could still manage to hear it over the roaring and the creaking. "Who was it that called you before? When we were leaving the bar?"

Sybil paused, trying to collect herself. "My – my sister," she answered. "She was just … making sure I was getting on the plane. She knew I was delayed."

"Okay. Where does your sister live?"

"London," Sybil said. Another jolt of turbulence, and she audibly moaned. She absolutely hated the feeling of her stomach shifting in her body, making her queasy for a brief second.

"Wouldn't that mean your sister was calling you in the middle of the night?" Tom questioned.

"Yeah, she was awake. She had a baby recently, and she's become a bit of an insomniac," Sybil explained. She was picking up on what Tom was doing – distracting her so that she wouldn't think about the plane, if only for a few seconds.

"Is it a boy or a girl?"

"A boy. I've never seen him because he was born after I left for Georgia. I probably will when we get to London, when my sister and her husband come to pick me up from the airport."

"Is your sister older or younger?"

"Younger."

"Any other sisters or brothers?"

"One other sister, also older."

"Wow. Must have been fun growing up."

Sybil winced as the plane bumped in the air again. "If you think constantly going for each other's throats is fun—" Suddenly she laughed amidst the jouncing. Evidently Tom was working wonders, though just as quickly her laughter turned into a gasp as the plane jolted once more.

The cabin started to level out with a few more creaks. "So, anyone else in the family in the medical profession?" Tom asked.

"No, just me," Sybil said. "My sister's husband's parents were doctors, but that's the closest relation."

"What made you decide to become a nurse?"

"I – I think – ugh, there are so many reasons," Sybil said, trying to think straight through the sporadic shaking. "Of course there's the 'I want to help people reason,' and I feel like being a nurse, as opposed to a doctor – it lets you connect with the patients better. They depend on you once they get out of surgery, and while they recover, and you have to deal with their visitors …" She paused and wondered if the turbulence was subsiding.

"The nurses fight the battles," Tom finished for her.

"Exactly. I feel that's what I'm meant to do," Sybil said.

"And like I mentioned before, I bet you do it well," Tom said.

"Yeah," Sybil said absently.

She heard the intercom buzz. "This is your captain. We apologize for the bumpy takeoff, but we're through the worst of it now. We ask that you keep your seatbelts securely fastened while seated as there may be more turbulence. Thank you."

Sybil let out a long, slow breath. Her whole body seemed to relax at once. She opened her eyes to the dimly lit cabin, the sky outside the window completely colourless. She looked down at Tom's hand covering her own and then up at Tom, giving him a grateful smile. "Thank you for distracting me."

"It was no problem," Tom said warmly. "Are you okay now?"

"Yeah, for now," Sybil nodded.

Tom took away his hand, leaving the back of Sybil's feeling strangely naked. She pried her hand off the armrest, bringing it down to her lap and flexing her stiff fingers.

"That must have been a bit … weird … the thing with the …" Sybil pointed to Tom's hand and then her own.

"Hey, I offered it in the first place," Tom said. "I sort of gave you the idea."

"Well, thank you. It really worked," Sybil said. "I'm not usually like that," she added sheepishly. "Something just came over me."

"Stress of a long day?" Tom guessed.

"Maybe," Sybil contemplated. "Maybe the alcohol had something to do with it as well. Oh, I don't know. I was being silly."

"There's nothing wrong with that," Tom said. "We all get scared sometimes."

"But I'm almost never on the verge of a panic attack on an airplane," Sybil groaned.

"Well, the pilot said the worst has passed, so we're fine now," Tom reminded her. "And I'm glad could be of some help."

"Yeah," Sybil murmured. "I'm glad you were here too."


	4. The Flight: Part 1

_A/N: Sorry for the long wait mates! It took a dream about Jackson Rippner chasing me through an airport to remind me that I needed to update this_. **:|**

* * *

Chapter 4 – The Flight: Part 1

Things began to quiet down in the cabin as the plane levelled out. The 'fasten seatbelts' signs were still lit, but the turbulence had completely subsided – much to Sybil's relief. The main cabin lights had been turned off, though in few aisles passengers had turned on the tiny reading lights over their heads. About half of the people in Sybil's sight had their eyes closed, some with their seats reclined, either about to fall asleep or already knocked out; the other half had pulled out books or electronic devices to keep them entertained for the long flight.

Originally Sybil had made up her mind to sleep on the plane – she needed a long rest badly, and thousands of feet in the air no one would be able to bother her with phone calls or late-night emergencies at the ward. But the panic with the turbulence had torn her from her sluggish state, and Sybil was resigned, with slight disappointment, that she'd probably be conscious for the duration of the flight.

The disappointment was only slight, because at least she had someone to talk to, someone with whom she was well comfortable sitting next to. Tom Branson was still awake, his tiny reading light illuminating his face. He didn't feel so much like a stranger now, though they were not familiar enough to be called friends. Yet Sybil couldn't shake the feeling that there was … something between them. But what exactly?

Well, that semi-hand holding that had occurred during take-off had to mean something.

Tom reached under the seat in front of him and pulled out a hardcover book from his backpack. Sybil glanced at the book jacket, and her heart skipped a beat. It was some weird self-help book concerning love lives, relationships, that sort of thing. She had read it before, though not recently – it was currently sitting on her bookshelf at home.

"I've read that before," she said, tapping the cover.

"Really?" Tom flipped the book around, looking uncertainly at the back and front covers. "I picked it up recently. I'm only on chapter two. One of my friends said I should read it. Though in hindsight, he was probably having me on."

Sybil nodded. "I thought I'd just read it for a laugh, see if there was any substance to it. And if there is, it .. hasn't worked for me."

"Maybe not yet," Tom replied.

Sybil paused, wondering if Tom was deliberately implying anything. "Well, I don't have a boyfriend or anything, so it's not like I have a lot of use for a self-help book on love."

"Me neither, to be honest," Tom confessed. "I'm just keeping at it for curiosity's sake."

"Maybe it'll work better for you than for me," Sybil said.

Tom nodded shortly, an almost imperceptible smile crossing his face, then opened to a dog-eared page. Sybil turned her face away, but her eyes were still focused on Tom, watching his own eyes move left to right as he read the text on the page.

He really does have nice eyes, she thought, suppressing the grin that was forming against her will.

She shifted in her seat so that her back wasn't so rigid – a stiff spine would not be agreeable on a flight this long – and pulled the floppy air-travel magazine from the pouch underneath the tray table. She flipped through it, briefly scanning the headlines, pausing every now and then to read an article that caught her interest. Suggested itineraries for visiting Philadelphia, something about Duke Hospital in North Carolina (which Sybil had considered before settling for Emory), movie reviews and restaurant ratings. She tried to keep focused on the magazine for as long as possible, to make as much time pass as possible, but when she reached the last leaf only twenty minutes had passed.

Oh boy, Sybil thought, I'll be a mindless zombie by the time I get off this plane.

The flight from London to Atlanta six months ago had been excruciatingly long, but the longing to get back home seemed to make this one drag on as slow as a boring day at work. Waiting through the delay had been bad enough. Since she wasn't feeling tired yet, Sybil didn't feel that closing her eyes would do much good in passing the time.

She looked over at Tom, who was still preoccupied with his book. Amazing how he could still be engrossed in that self-help book; Sybil herself could only read it in fifteen minute segments. The rather zealous language that emulated a school headmaster telling students to get their act together had rather annoyed her.

And seeing Tom's expression – eyes monotonously scanning the page, lips somewhat pursed – he appeared to have the same reaction.

Above the tops of the seats Sybil could see the senior flight attendant pushing the beverage cart down the aisle. She suddenly had a weird notion again: if both she and Tom had something, then that would be the second time tonight that they would have a drink together, though odds were the both of them were going to steer clear of any more alcohol. If Tom had blamed his little slip-of-the-tongue earlier on the Guinness, then most likely he wouldn't go and imbibe any further.

When the flight attendant reached their row, Tom shut the book and shoved it in the seat pouch before putting down his tray table. The attendant turned to the inner seats first, however. Tom let out a soft grumble.

"How's the reading going?" Sybil asked casually.

Tom rolled his eyes and let out a humourless laugh. "I don't think I'll be able to handle it much longer."

Sybil giggled. "That bad?"

"If it didn't sound so condescending, like it despises me for not already being in a relationship—"

"Sir? Would you like something to drink?" the attendant asked Tom.

"Right, uh … just a water, please," Tom replied.

The attendant pulled a water bottle out of one drawer and uncapped it, pouring the contents into a short plastic cup before handing the cup to Tom. "What would you like to drink ma'am?" she asked Sybil.

"Um, a water please." Sybil took the cup handed to her, cautiously reaching over Tom's open tray table. She quickly took a sip, always afraid that the plane would jostle suddenly and spill her drink over her shirt.

"So anyway," Tom continued, as if their conversation had never been interrupted, "it's like the book disapproves of me not knowing how to find a girlfriend."

"Yeah, it does sound like that," Sybil agreed. "Sort of like, 'how could you not know any better?'"

"Exactly," Tom nodded. "You know, you could've warned me about that."

"I didn't want to scare you off," Sybil said sheepishly.

"I'm just kidding," Tom said quickly. "It's simply something I can't take seriously. The tone in which it's written is almost laughable. Wait—"

He reached under the tray table and pulled the self-help book open. Flipping it open to a random page, he said, "Listen to this. It's how I hear it in my head."

Clearing his throat, he started reading from the first paragraph. His voice became steady and over-the-top, like an officious talk-show host, the ones that constantly appeared on the waiting room televisions at the hospital.

"If you keep looking at yourself in the mirror like a loser, then you _will_ become a loser, and that just so happens to be the biggest turn-off ever. This is a challenge to get real about who you are and what you want, to get excited about your love life like it's already a real thing. Stop believing the what-ifs and the baseless suspicions that will keep you from chasing your goals. Stop dwelling on your past failures, and stop saying no to the opportunities that cross your path. Learn to deal with the fact that – you okay there, Sybil?" he asked, reverting to his normal voice.

Sybil was sniggering, unable to control herself at hearing Tom's cringe-worthy performance. "Sorry that was – that was hilarious." She coughed to mask her giggles, noticing at least one other passenger looking her way. She grabbed her cup of water and took a quick swig of it, her laughter almost bubbling back up and making her dribble.

"Was it really that funny?" Tom questioned.

Sybil nodded her head, another snicker escaping. "Yes, it was."

"Now you see why I can't take it seriously," Tom stated, setting the book down on the tray table. "Sooner or later, I'm going to start hearing that shit in my dreams if I don't stop."

"That would be quite unfortunate." Sybil couldn't seem to wipe her smirk off of her face; Tom's exaggerated narration had given her a much-needed laugh, to break the monotony she was suffering already.

She heard another bing and looked up to see the seatbelt sign go black. A couple of passengers stood up, stretched their legs, headed for the lavatories. One auburn-haired woman in the row ahead of Sybil and Tom opened up an overhead luggage bin, though she was having a bit of trouble reaching for what she wanted. She appeared to be slightly shorter than Sybil. Her eyes rested on Tom behind her, and her face not-so-innocently pleaded for help.

"Time to play porter," Sybil muttered to Tom.

"Right," Tom mouthed.

With a polite smile, Tom unbuckled himself and lifted up his tray table. "Could you hold these?" he asked Sybil, his book and his water cup in his hands. Sybil took both items and set them on her own tray table as Tom stepped next to the woman struggling with the suitcase. She was a head shorter than Tom, Sybil noticed.

"Here, allow me," Tom said. "This one?"

The woman stepped back to give Tom space, smiling coyly. "Yes, that's the one. Thank you so much."

Both Sybil and Tom raised their eyebrows – an English woman, with an accent much like Sybil's.

Tom pulled the woman's carry-on down from the overhead bin so the woman could unzip it. "I'm going to need you to help me put it back up when I'm done," the woman said.

"Of course," Tom replied.

The woman fished out what she needed – a small plastic toiletries bag. "There, you can put it up now," she said, sounding a bit too kittenish for the situation. Tom hoisted the carry-on back into the bin, grimacing mostly for Sybil's viewing pleasure. Sybil made a face, ducking her head so the woman wouldn't see. She sure seems eager.

"Oh, thank you so much," the woman said as Tom retook his seat. "Who would have thought there were any real gentlemen on this flight?"

"It was no problem," Tom said, refastening his seatbelt.

Instead of resuming her seat, the woman kept standing, noticeably closer to Tom's row than her own. She pointed to the book resting on Sybil's tray table.

"I like that author," she said. "I've read most of his books."

"Oh, well actually," Sybil began, shoving the book back into Tom's hands, "it's his book. I was just holding onto it."

"Ah, I see." The woman's face brightened. "You enjoying it?"

"Sure," Tom said hesitantly. "Very informative."

"I've never read that one specifically, but I do hear it's wonderfully effective. Never heard of a relationship that failed from that book."

Sybil's eyes narrowed.

"Well," Tom said, "why don't you take it and read it?" He offered the book to her.

"Oh no, I couldn't," the woman said, still keeping that inappropriately coquettish tone.

"Really, please take it. I'm done anyway, I was only rereading it," Tom insisted.

The woman snatched up the book from Tom's hand, giving him a wide smile. "That's so sweet of you. Really, you are a gentleman. I know I'll enjoy this immensely."

With that, she finally returned to her seat.

Tom turned back to Sybil, nonchalantly chugging the last of her water. "Thank God," Tom breathed.

Sybil snorted. "That was entertaining."

Tom looked a combination of disturbed and amused. "She wasn't even trying to be subtle. I saw the looks she was giving me."

"So did I, and now I want to wash my eyes out," Sybil remarked. "I hope you got far enough in that book to learn how to deal with flirting."

"I didn't, unfortunately."

"Oh well," Sybil shrugged.

"But hopefully that book will keep Miss Bunting occupied for a few hours."

Sybil frowned. "Is that her name? Do you know her?"

"No, it was on her luggage tag. Sarah Bunting."

"Aha. A name you're sure to remember."

Tom looked queerly at Sybil, and then the two of them burst out laughing.

"We shouldn't be so loud," Sybil said between gasps. "Half of these people are asleep."

"Yeah, you're right," Tom said.

But even when they were both silent once more, their smiles didn't fade for a long time after.


	5. The Flight: Part 2

Chapter 5 – The Flight: Part 2

The last thing Sybil remembered was the young flight attendant quietly handing out pillows and blankets, taking some for herself, then leaning back into her seat …

And then she jolted awake to find herself leaning to the side, blanket around her shoulders, head resting against something – Tom's shoulder, as a matter of fact.

"Oh my God," Sybil cried, fully awake at the sight. Tom noticed her, somewhat stunned at her outburst.

"Sybil? You alright?"

"No – wait, yeah, I'm fine – I … " Sybil stammered. "Did I fall asleep?"

"You dozed off a while ago," Tom answered.

Sybil immediately straightened up, pulling the blanket away from her. The cabin was even darker than before, more passengers tempted to sleep with the complimentary pillows and blankets. It was fairly quiet, except for a few people snoring.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't realize—" she said in a rush, incredibly embarrassed.

"No, don't – I didn't mind," Tom said. "You looked comfortable, and I didn't want to disturb you."

Even so, Sybil winced. _I invaded his personal space, and I didn't even realize it!_

As if he had read her mind, Tom added, "Really, I wasn't bothered. It … it was sort of … cute."

Sybil felt like her face was burning. Tom shifted in his seat, settling an inch away from her as though it might make her easier.

"Just … don't worry about it," he said quietly.

He had one of his own books open in his lap, which he must have been reading while she was sleeping on his shoulder. Sybil looked down at the pages, but her head was still fuzzy and she couldn't make out and text. She groaned and rubbed her face; she felt just like after a long night at the hospital, on her feet without a rest for hours. And she felt even more dreadful considering that she was still on the plane and had managed to embarrass herself with her seatmate!

Much as Tom had embarrassed himself earlier with the offer to hold her hand during take-off. Sybil supposed that her dozing off on his shoulder made them even now.

Sybil felt her eyelids slide over her fuzzy vision, the dark cabin growing blurrier. _At least I'm getting a few minutes of shut-eye,_ she thought groggily. Just to be sure, she leaned towards the window, away from Tom's shoulder, her pillow positioned against the wall. If she somehow managed to find herself snoozing against Tom _again,_ she might seriously consider going to hide in the lavatory for the rest of the flight.

But not long after she closed her eyes again, she detected light flashing from the other side of her lids. Her eyes fluttered open. Through the window obscured partially by the plastic shade, she caught a glimpse of the dark cloudy sky outside being illuminated briefly by … lightning?

The plane started to shake again.

 _Oh God,_ Sybil moaned internally, _not more turbulence!_

Unfortunately for her, it was. Another tremor brought her out of her disorientation. She heard some nervous gasps of other passengers as the turbulence continued, heavy and continuous. It was even worse than when after the plane had taken off. It was the kind that made even the most hardened traveller wonder. The seatbelt sign _binged_ on, followed immediately after by a flight attendant on the intercom.

"Please return to your seats and make sure your seatbelts are securely fastened."

Sybil tightened hers across her lap, quivering as she felt the plane shudder. There were more lightning flashes outside the window, filling the cabin with white light every few seconds. The heavy creaking of the skeleton and baggage shifting in the overhead bins was sporadic, stopping only when the plane gained stability for a few seconds.

 _Okay, it's going to be fine, we're going to get out of this_ , Sybil tried to convince herself. _We got through it before_ —

"Sybil, you okay?" Tom asked her.

From the look in his eyes, Sybil knew that she definitely did _not_ appear okay. She wondered just how pale and shaky she must actually be. But Tom had grown rather blanched as well – the turbulence was so severe that even he couldn't help but feel on edge.

"Sybil," he said softly, "do you need … me again?"

Sybil didn't trust herself to speak without her voice becoming as shaky as the plane. All she could do was nod her head and place her hand on the armrest.

He didn't simply place his hand on top of her as he did before; his wrist lay against hers, his dry palm pressed against her own slightly sweaty palm, his fingers intertwined with hers. Their hands were clasped tight, as if neither could survive without the other. Tom, it seemed to Sybil, needed her at this moment just as much as she needed him.

Of course, she could have made that up in her head, but it couldn't be just her imagination. His hand was clutching hers in the same fashion as a couple taking a walk, and it couldn't have been an accident. There was no way his hand had slipped and somehow locked with hers in that way. He _meant_ to do it.

That thought made Sybil's heart pound, but in a good way.

The intercom crackled and the pilot's voice came on. "Well folks, we were hoping the storm was behind us but obviously it seems to have followed us east. Control's just cleared us to thirty-five thousand feet, however. We'll see if we can't get clear air above this weather, smooth the ride out a little bit—"

Amidst the intense bucking the engines roared louder, and Sybil could tell that the plane was lifting higher. She squeezed Tom's hand as if to say to him, _we're going to be fine_.

Her heart nearly leapt in her chest when she felt him squeeze back.

The next jolt of turbulence made the plane lurch so severely that Sybil's head smacked against the rim of the window. Hard.

* * *

The first thought that came into Sybil's throbbing head as she came to was, "Well, bully for this."

She sat up slowly from the pillow propped against the wall, raising a hand to her forehead. The dull ache at her temple was certainly painful, but not enough to prompt her to believe that she had sustained a concussion. The dark cabin seemed out-of-focus with her hazy vision, but she still managed to make out Tom's relieved face as she looked around.

"How do you feel?" he asked her.

Sybil groaned in exasperation. "Bloody fantastic. Best night of my life."

The turbulence had finally subsided, she realized; the pilot had been successful in finding clear air. Thank goodness he had, since those wretched bumps and rattling would only make her head hurt more than it already did.

"How .. how long have I been out?" she asked Tom.

"Only half an hour," he said. He peered at her with concern, as if _he_ were the nurse. "Does your head hurt at all?"

"Yeah, a little," Sybil nodded.

Tom reached into his seat pocket and pulled out an empty plastic cup. There was a small white pill at the bottom. "I expected it would, since you smacked into the window pretty hard. So I asked the flight attendant if I could get you some aspirin."

Sybil cracked a grateful smile. "Thank you."

She held out her hand and Tom dropped the aspirin into her palm. He then pulled a fresh bottled water from the seat pocket, cracked it open, and handed it to Sybil. She swallowed the pill with a few swigs.

"That was, um, very thoughtful of you," she said.

"Don't mention it," Tom shrugged, scratching his at hairline. "You hit your head really hard there. I doubted you'd want to suffer through the rest of this flight with a headache."

"You're right about that," Sybil said. "As if this night wasn't enough to bring one on."

She took another gulp of water. "At least I didn't crack the window."

Tom chuckled and said, "Good thing you didn't."

With a sigh, Sybil conceded, "This sort of thing never really happens to me, though. I'm not normally so … susceptible to injury."

"Hey, it could've happened to me if I was in the window seat," Tom said. "That was a very rough bout of turbulence. There must be someone else in here who got jostled around."

Sybil paused, waiting for the blurry cabin to come back into focus. As she finished off the water, one of the flight attendants came down the aisle and stopped next to Tom. "How's she doing?" she asked him.

"Much better now, as you can see," Tom answered, looking towards Sybil.

"You alright, hon?" the flight attendant asked Sybil.

Sybil nodded as she capped the empty bottle. "Yes. Just a bit of a headache. The aspirin should take care of that, though."

"Good," the flight attendant said. "You're lucky to have a seatmate looking out for you like that. Called us right over as soon as he noticed you were out cold."

Tom's face was flushed, and he said with a bashful smile, "Oh, I was just doing what I thought was right. I'm no doctor."

"Well, as long as you're alright now," the flight attendant said to Sybil. "If you need anything else, just let me know."

"Okay," Sybil muttered as the flight attendant moved off up the aisle.

There was a beat of silence between her and Tom. Sybil glanced at Tom from the corner of her eye; he was staring into space, as if trying to avoid her gaze. She remembered how pale he had looked while the plane was still abruptly jouncing, yet he had not hesitated to act once he saw her knocked out. And, she remembered, his willingness to hold her hand again even if she was acting like a little kid who had never flown before. She really appreciated his genuine concern for a stranger.

"You know, she was right," she managed to say after what seemed like a long time. "I'm glad you were here to help me."

"I hardly did anything," Tom said, shaking his head. "I mean, it wasn't like I administered CPR or—"

"I don't just mean with the aspirin," Sybil interrupted, "though that was a very considerate move on your part. I'm also talking about the hand-holding thing again – you didn't care that I was acting like a baby. Or that I'm a stranger whom you met in an airport bar."

Tom had frozen in his seat, watching Sybil as she spoke. He didn't seem to completely believe her words, but he was listening to her all the same. So Sybil went on, hoping that she wasn't sounding too sappy.

"Tom, you're a really kind man. I … I think you should know that. Honestly, with all this stress about flying home, and the delay, and so much else …"

She stalled, wondering how much of her personal troubles would be appropriate to reveal. The truth was, it wasn't just the strain at the airport that was contributing to these panic attacks that were triggered by the turbulence. There was a lot else that even now Sybil did not want to think about.

"Anyway, I'm glad that it's _you_ sitting with me. I trust you, I really do. And I hope you realize exactly how appreciative I am that you're looking out for me. I'm a stranger, but—"

"It doesn't matter," Tom said, confusing Sybil for a moment. "That you're a stranger, I mean. Because it … it doesn't feel that way anymore."

He swallowed nervously, and Sybil could tell he was trying to keep the words that were forming in his mind from tumbling out of his mouth. He was worried about saying something ill-advised.

"I know I probably sound like I'm not in my right mind, but the truth is … I really like you. I feel … comfortable around you. Like you're an old school friend or something."

He laughed shakily. "No, that does sound mad."

"Tom, it isn't mad at all," Sybil reprimanded gently. "Because I feel the same."

They looked at each other, eyes locked onto the other person's. A strange sensation had overtaken them both, left them entirely speechless. It was the feeling that they were meant to meet, to cross paths in the airport several times, to sit together in their row on the plane. As if fate had arranged everything.

 _Oh my God,_ Sybil internally screamed. _This is crazy! I shouldn't be feeling this way towards anyone, let alone someone I met a few hours ago._

It was so fortuitous, so peculiar this chance meeting. Logically, this shouldn't be happening, but even weirder was that Sybil was going along with it. She was sensible enough to know that things never played out in reality as they did in the movies, but her gut (and her heart) was telling her that this was how it was supposed to be for her and Tom.

Her stomach was doing somersaults, and her heart was thumping harder the longer she looked into Tom's eyes. It was so unlike her to feel this way: in all of her previous, brief relationships that had never gone very far, she had never felt so _right._ Or that was the only word she could come up with to describe the feeling. She suspected that there wasn't a word in English to do justice to it.

And the longer she sat with him, she realized, that feeling had less chance of going away.

But what would happen when they disembarked at Heathrow? Would they simply part ways with each other's phone number and email addresses, promising to get together again? Or would something … _more_ … happen? Sybil practically squeaked as she felt her chest swell with the possible outcomes.

The only question was, was she ready for whatever would happen?

She wasn't so sure.


	6. Interlude in the Lavatory: Part 1

_A/N: Short chapter here, but I figured I ought to post something since I've been neglecting this fic for too long. :\_

* * *

Chapter 6 – Interlude in the Lavatory: Part 1

A thousand emotions were amassing within Sybil, roiling like a hurricane, and she only managed to break free of her thoughts when she heard the seatbelt signs _bing_ off.

"The captain has turned off the fasten seatbelt sign at this time," announced a flight attendant over the intercom, "but please be careful when moving about the cabin in case we encounter some unexpected bumps …"

Sybil breathed in sharply. "Tom, can you get up? I – I have to go to the restroom."

Tom unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped into the aisle. "Are you alright? Do you feel sick—?"

"No, no I – I just need to, you know, go," Sybil said as she scooted out of the row. "It's nothing."

Tom didn't seem entirely convinced. Sybil furrowed her brow; did she not appear alright? But however shaken up she looked, he didn't put up any resistance and let her squeeze past him. Gingerly, Sybil made her way up the aisle to the lavatories, not daring to look back and watch Tom sit back down.

To her dismay, both of the lavatories were occupied. She leaned against the opposite wall of the nearest one, eyes glued to the little sign on the door that would hopefully turn to 'vacant' soon. She checked her watch – still several hours to go on the flight. They were probably far over the Atlantic Ocean by now, though, and had left the storms far behind. Sybil would be more than thrilled if there was no more turbulence on this flight.

She looked over her shoulder, into the dark hushed cabin. The single reading light in her row was still on, illuminating the top of Tom's head. He was facing forward, bent slightly forward as he was retrieving something from the seat pocket.

Sybil really did like him. She admired his almost nurse-like concern for her well-being, and she couldn't deny how comfortable she was just sitting and chatting with him. She had felt it from the first time she had spoken with him in the check-in line in Atlanta. He wasn't the type of person to require her to put on a mask and not act like herself. And with the feeling being mutual, how likely was it going to be that they'd walk off in separate directions at the airport and never cross paths again? Sybil didn't want _that_ to happen, but she wasn't sure what exactly she wanted, or even if she was ready for anything to happen between the two of them.

The lavatory door slid open, and the passenger who exited smiled briefly at Sybil before moving past her and making his way back up the aisle. Sybil glanced around quickly before stepping into the tiny restroom, shutting the door behind her and sliding the latch to lock it.

She stood there in front of the mirror, dazed, before slamming the toilet seat down and collapsing onto it. _Breathe, you idiot_ , she told herself. _Get it together_. She inhaled deeply, trying to regulate her breathing.

She needed some time alone to think, to really consider where things were going with her and Tom. They were friends by now, or at least friendly with each other. She could handle it if they stayed that way. But if things escalated, what would she do then?

Even with all of the misgivings she was having now, Sybil _was_ confident in her desire for a serious relationship, even the hopes of marriage. She remembered how envious she was of Mary and Matthew, living a practically perfect life with true love. She wanted to believe that she'd find her true love and have a life with them, as weirdly romantic as that sounded. But just because she _wanted_ didn't mean she was _ready_ for it.

Especially considering what happened …

Sybil stood up in front of the mirror, scrutinizing herself. Her hair was tousled and she definitely needed a proper night's rest from the lines of exhaustion around her eyes. She had been in these clothes for nearly twelve hours, and despite being in her most comfortable pair of combat boots she felt the urge to shed every article like an old snake skin. She was beginning to feel excessively warm with her heavy jumper, regardless of the near-frigid temperature of the cabin.

Reaching for the back of her collar, she tugged it over her head and pulled the sleeves off her arms. Her shirt accidentally slipped from her left shoulder, exposing the cup of her bra and quite a bit of skin. Looking at the reflection in the mirror, her eyes flicked down to a spot several inches below her collarbone.

A year ago, still in medical school, and the last time she had been in what she had considered a serious relationship. That was when she had gotten it. A line of raised skin about three inches long, running right above her left breast.

The scar hardly bothered her on most days. When she was working her uniform hid it, and so did most of her casual shirts. She never dressed while standing in front of a mirror. Most often she noticed it when she was in the shower, but she never allowed herself to linger on the sight of it. If she looked at it for too long, every unpleasant detail about it would come flooding back.

Sybil wrenched her eyes away from the mirror as she fixed her shirt, totally concealing the scar. She bent down to the sink and splashed cold water on her face a few times over, rubbing the gunge from her tired eyes. She looked as devoid of energy as when she had done overtime at the hospital, but she didn't appear or feel too out of sorts. The aspirin had mostly subdued the ache in her head. For the most part, she was fine.

She stepped out of the lavatory and moved furtively down the aisle, back down to her row. When she stopped next to Tom, he looked up and immediately got up from his seat to let her into the row.

"Thanks," she muttered, buckling herself up again.

Having looked intently at the scar on her chest just now, she suddenly felt conscious of its existence, like it was suddenly a big neon sign drawing attention. Even though Tom wasn't looking at her right now, and probably had never even noticed something wrong on her chest, she tugged the collar up closer to her neck. She still felt warm, especially now that she was sitting next to Tom again, but she would have rather put her jumper back on to completely avoid her shirt slipping down and partially revealing the scar.

Not that Tom was a nosy man, and even if he saw the scar he would be considerate and not raise any questions about it. But even so, Sybil felt that, at some point, he'd have to know about it if he was to get any closer to her.

She waited for a while, flipping through the in-flight magazine for the third time round, and neither she nor Tom made any attempt to start up another conversation. It was actually aggravating her, that after all that they confessed before that they were decidedly mute now. Was Tom embarrassed at their last conversation? He didn't _look_ it, and he had been pretty open while they were talking.

 _God, why does this sort of thing have to be so bloody confusing_? Sybil shrieked internally. Perhaps if she wasn't so devoid of sleep, she might be able to think this through more rationally.

Because the scheme that was forming in her head risked ending in disaster more than climbing Mount Everest without any climbing gear.


	7. Interlude in the Lavatory: Part 2

Chapter 7 – Interlude in the Lavatory: Part 2

Half an hour of sitting in silence, and Sybil decided enough was enough.

She searched around in her carry-on for a writing implement, finally finding a ballpoint pen inside a pocket. In the margin of one of the pages of the in-flight magazine, she wrote a couple sentences, pressing hard so that the letters were readable. Discreetly, she tore the message away from the rest of the page and, with her heart in her mouth, slipped it into Tom's lap.

He didn't seem to notice it immediately, or made any attempt to draw attention to it. But he'd surely notice it lying on his trouser leg as Sybil unbuckled her seat belt.

"Sorry," she said sheepishly. "I have to go to the lavatory again."

Just as before, Tom unbuckled his seatbelt as well, asking, "Are you sure you're alright?"

Sybil shrugged, feigning embarrassment. "Female emergency," she explained quietly.

Tom nodded, understanding to what Sybil was hinting at. As Sybil pushed through the row, she glanced down and noticed the scrap of paper sitting on Tom's seat, where he'd be more than likely to see it.

"Thanks," she mumbled, walking hastily towards the aft lavatory so Tom wouldn't suspect a thing – at least right at this moment.

This time, the lavatory was vacant, and she speedily shoved open the door and turned on the light. Now all there was to do was wait, and hope she wasn't making a fool of herself.

Tom would no doubt understand what he wanted her to do. The instructions she had written on the paper were quite clear:

" _Wait three minutes, then check that none of the flight attendants are looking. Knock three times on the lavatory door."_

Whether or not he would follow through was up to him.

Sybil decided that she'd wait for ten minutes inside the lavatory, and then assume that he thought she was being a prat and leave, and give up all hope of ever having anything to do with him when the plane landed in London. If he did decide to follow her instructions, then she'd let him in once she heard the three knocks – and then things would go from there.

As long as the flight attendants didn't get suspicious, they'd be able to talk in private, which was what Sybil needed.

She kept track of the minutes on her watch. The first three ticked by, but she figured that Tom wouldn't knock for a few more, just to be sure that no one was watching. She knew how flight attendants were these days – they were probably snide about the fact that she and Tom were getting on so well when they obviously weren't in a relationship. They would have noticed that they had boarded the plane separately and were obviously strangers.

Another minute ticked by.

 _What if I am being silly about this?_ Sybil cringed. She had never heard of any real relationship that had started because two people who shared a drink and maybe some flirtations ended up sitting together on a late-night flight. It was definitely weird, even to her – and how would it seem to other people? The image of Mary rolling her eyes and scoffing at her blind faith popped into her head.

Sybil put down the toilet seat and sat down as another minute passed. It was now five minutes gone, half the opportunity gone. Was there a flight attendant in the nearby galley with an fixed eye on Tom? Was he outside the lavatory at all? Or what if there was somebody else in line in front of him—?

 _Tap tap tap._

Sybil shot up from the toilet seat and pressed herself against the lavatory door. She couldn't see out of any of the gaps in the door, so she slid the bolt aside, slowly, and opened up a tiny crack.

Tom _was_ there, and she almost smile from the relief. She opened the door wider and motioned him inside. "Quick, before somebody sees you."

Limbs shuffling to make room for another person in the tiny lavatory, Tom wedged himself through the door and shut it behind him, shoving the bolt back to the 'occupied' position. He turned around to face Sybil, who had to stand only a few inches away from him in order to avoid standing over the toilet bowl and making things even more awkward than they already were. The two of them were in an airplane lavatory together for heaven's sake, and fairly likely to be accused of being members of the mile-high club.

"So?" Tom whispered, evidently also apprehensive of someone listening in. "What is it?"

Sybil hesitated, hoping she wouldn't sound like a blithering idiot to him. She had been taking a big risk by asking him to meet her inside the lavatory, and she couldn't screw things up between him and her. He must be bewildered just from standing in here with her, his nose literally a couple inches from hers.

"Tom, I'm just going to come out and say it," she blurted out. "I like you. I like you _a lot_. And I honestly do not want to get off this plane and say good-bye and have that be that. I _want_ to see you again, or email or call, whatever works for you. But I don't want to force anything between us to move too quickly, or at all if you think I'm being an idiot about it."

Tom stared at her, wide-eyed, as she regained her breath. His mouth twitched but he couldn't seem to say anything.

"Listen, I'm sorry for putting you in this spot," Sybil sighed. "I know it's probably awkward, but that conversation we had before, about not feeling like proper strangers – I just feel like if we got off the plane and never saw each other again, we'd be doing something so wrong. Like we'd regret it for a long time afterwards. And I … I had to tell you that."

She looked at him helplessly, hoping he'd say something in response. He still seemed beyond words.

Sybil sighed again. "I'm sorry. If you think I'm being stupid or this isn't worth it, you can go. You can go back to your seat and I promise I won't bother you again. We'll get off this plane and never see each other again. But I had to say something to you."

Tom's forehead crinkled, as if he had forgotten how to understand English. Sybil let out an exasperated groan. "I knew it! I knew I was being an idiot—"

"No, wait," Tom suddenly cut in. "I'm just trying to understand something. What sort of … relationship are we talking about here? Friendship? Romance?" He said the last word in a whisper.

Sybil threw her hands up. "I don't know! I mean, I think you and I are friends right now, and in time we could be really good friends. But with romance … I certainly don't want to take things too fast, or at all if you aren't comfortable with that. I just … I want to see you again."

There was silence between them, and Sybil hoped that Tom wouldn't turn away and leave her alone in the lavatory. She was certain she had only confused him further – why hadn't she planned out what she was going to say in a more comprehensible way?

He leaned against the door, eyes towards the ceiling, and then he breathed a sigh of relief. A smile spread over his face.

"What?" Sybil asked.

Tom shrugged his shoulders. "I'm just glad that it was _you_ who said it. I wouldn't have had the guts."

Sybil gaped. "Are you saying … that you were thinking the same thing."

"Pretty much!" Tom laughed.

"Shh!" Sybil hissed. Anyone could pass by the lavatory or hear them.

"Sorry," Tom mouthed. "So what now?"

Sybil exhaled slowly – even with what she said about going into a romantic relationship with Tom in the future, she figured it would be best for both of them if she lay her cards on the table now.

"I know that I said that a romantic relationship might be taking things too fast," Sybil said, "but I think I need to tell you upfront, before we're even considering anything."

"What is it?"

Her heart hammering inside her chest, Sybil tugged down the collar of her shirt. Tom raised an eyebrow initially, but when he saw what Sybil was pointing at on skin he became more concerned, if still perplexed.

"Jesus," he murmured. He gaped at it for a few seconds. "Did someone do that to you?"

Sybil nodded. She felt strangely calm, she didn't think she'd cry at all even though talking about the scar out loud was going to bring up some very painful memories.

"I've been in serious relationships before," she explained. "The last time I was in one I was still in medical school. It lasted for a few months, but it ended a year ago. The guy's name was Larry Grey."

"Sounds … like a real charmer," Tom said, grimacing.

"He was, at first. We met at a bar near the university a couple times, he asked me out on a few dates, and eventually we started … getting serious about our relationship." Sybil's smile was wry.

"So what happened?" Tom asked.

It was horrible just thinking about it, but Sybil couldn't retreat now. "A year ago I was finishing up school, and I was studying nearly all the time. I was seeing him less often than he liked. He phoned me every night telling me I needed to stop and see him, but passing those exams were so important to me. More than anything I wanted to be a nurse, and I couldn't think of myself doing anything else."

"Of course you did," Tom said.

Sybil frowned slightly. "Huh?"

"I mean I – I get that being a nurse is really important to you. You'd obviously be studying very hard," Tom quickly said.

"Yeah, you're right. It was so important to me," Sybil agreed. "But the more he kept nagging me to spend time with him, I started thinking that maybe I didn't want to be in a relationship with him anymore. I just … I didn't feel anything with him any more. And he was _really_ getting on my nerves."

Tom nodded, understanding.

Sybil inhaled deeply, leaning against the sink just to feel stable. "So on the day of my final exams, I decided I was going to go over to his house and tell him that he and I were over. I took the exam, I drove to his house, he got me a cup of tea. Then I told him to sit down and listen to me carefully.

"I tried not to sound too rough, but I needed him to know that I was serious. He didn't take it well. First, he kept saying that he forgave me for being so worked up about my exams. When I tried to tell him that it wasn't just because of my exams, that I didn't believe we were right for each other, he told me I was tired and needed to relax. It went on for what seemed like hours."

She paused for breath, to check that she was still alright. Her heart was beating hard. Tom glanced back down to her exposed scar, anticipating that she was getting to the reason for its conception.

"Eventually, I gave up and walked out. He followed me outside, all the way to my car. I didn't realize what he was going to do until I saw that he had grabbed a pair of scissors that had been lying on the kitchen table."

Tom's eyes widened in horror. "No way," he breathed, looking down at the scar again.

"Yeah," Sybil confirmed.

Her fingers traced around the outline of the scar. Her voice became distant as she lost herself in the memory of that awful day.

"He slammed me against the car door, telling me I needed to sort my thick head out. He held the scissors close to my throat the whole time he was yelling at me. I was an ungrateful bitch, a gold-digger, all sorts of things. It was the middle of the day, and no one saw what he was doing.

"I fought back finally, but he was a lot bigger than I was. He pushed me to the ground, we wrestled a bit. I tried to scream for help but he grabbed my throat. And then at some point the scissors slipped."

Tom cringed; he was clearly envisioning the point of the scissors slicing into her skin. Sybil herself could still feel the sting when she recalled it, even though at the time she hadn't felt the pain for several seconds.

"Then he ran away. I could hardly breathe, and it took forever for me to climb back into the car and drive to the emergency room. I was still bleeding when I got there. I said that I had slipped against the edge of my car door."

"You didn't tell anyone that he had attacked you?"

Sybil shook her head. "I don't know why I didn't. And I never told anyone afterwards. Larry didn't come after me or contact me again, which I suppose was a good thing. But I was still afraid he'd decide to find me. That's partly why I decided to work in Atlanta rather than one of the London hospitals."

"Jesus Christ," Tom swore. "That bastard."

Sybil tugged her shirt back over the scar, concealing it again. "Ever since then, I've been trying to convince myself of one thing, over and over," she said.

There was a beat of silence as Tom waited her for her to say it. She hesitated, and so he took a guess. "That it wasn't your fault?"

"No," Sybil answered. "Well, partly that. I did blame myself a little afterwards, wonder if I should have broken up with him differently. Then I realized that there was no good reason he should have attacked me. But no, that's not the main thing.

"Then what were you trying to convince yourself?"

Sybil looked at Tom square in the eye. It had been the same hard stare she had used to tell Larry that it was over between them. "That it would never happen again."

Tom at first didn't quite get at what she was implying, but then the realization spread over his face. "Oh. I understand. I get it."

"Do you?" Sybil wanted to be sure.

"Yes. You don't want to be hurt again. You need to be sure you can trust whoever you're with."

Sybil, satisfied with his answer, nodded. "Yeah, that's about it. That's why … I'm hesitant about the idea of being in a serious relationship again. It's that I don't want to be in one – I'd actually like that very much – but I don't know if I'm mentally ready for another one. So that's what I thought you should know."

She and Tom looked at each other for a silent minute. Absently Sybil wondered just how long they had been in the lavatory. Was there someone standing outside, waiting to be let in?

Tom sighed, but he smiled reassuringly at Sybil. "Whatever you think should happen between the two of us, it's your call. If you want to have a romantic relationship, or just be friends for a little while, I'm not going to force you into anything. If you tell me to walk out of your life forever, I won't put up a fight."

Sybil smiled, glad he was being so considerate and sensitive. It was like a great big weight being lifted off her shoulders, that she had finally told the truth about her injury, that someone understood her hesitation about romance, that someone finally understood _her._

Tom brought his voice low. "You know, we can talk about what to later, but right now I think we should get out of here before someone knocks the door down."

Sybil glanced cautiously towards the door. "Someone probably has heard us talking in here."

"If anyone asks, I'll take the blame," Tom said as he slowly unlatched the door.

"You don't have to do that," Sybil said. "I'm the one that made you come in here."

Tom fully unlocked the door and stepped outside into the corridor first, checking that there was no one outside waiting. "Come on," he whispered, motioning for Sybil to come out of the lavatory. "I think the coast is clear."

Sybil stepped outside and shut the lavatory door. She and Tom were about to hurry back to their seats when—

"Excuse me!"

Both of them whirled around. A more stern-faced flight attendant appeared in the galley, hands on hips.

"This isn't a motel," she said severely.

Sybil and Tom froze. Sybil pressed her lips together to keep from bursting out laughing. _Of course this was going to happen. Shit._

Tom nodded curtly. "Sure. Sorry about that. Won't happen again."

He gave Sybil a little shove in the direction of the main cabin. She could barely keep a straight face as she made her way down the aisle and sidled back into her seat.

"So," Tom remarked as he buckled himself in again. "That went well."

Sybil gave a little snort. "Did they really think that we did 'it'? We didn't even kiss in there for God's sake."

"It's all the same to them," Tom said.


	8. Arrival

_First off, I want to apologize for the fact I have't updated it since March (!) and that the story has just been hanging without an end. But last week I was travelling by plane and remembered this fic, so I finally decided that this needed to be wrapped up once and for all. So this is the final chapter (sorry that it's not longer) and I hope you enjoy it. And if anyone asks after a sequel or a spin-off – maybe, but no promises. I intended this to be a standalone story, so whatever happens after the imaginary credits roll, it's up to your imagination._

 _Thank you to everyone for reading and reviewing this fic!_

* * *

Chapter 8 – Arrival

"Ladies and gentlemen, the flight attendants will not be going around and handing out a complimentary breakfast, along with your choice of tea or coffee … "

Sybil's eyes flickered open to brilliant orange light. She blinked several times as she lifted her wrist out from under her blanket to check the time. With relief, she realized that the trip was almost over – she was almost home.

She stretched out, yawned for a couple seconds, then turned to Tom, sitting in his seat as he had for the entire journey. "Morning, there," he said cheerfully. He looked like he had just woken up as well.

"Hmm … morning," she mumbled. "Ah, it feels so good to have finally fallen asleep!"

"Yeah, you conked out pretty quickly after we … er, after we got back from the bathroom," he whispered.

The flight attendants were going around, handing out bananas and egg sandwiches and pouring cups of orange juice, tea and coffee. Sybil's stomach rumbled, even though she hated airplane food. At least she genuinely felt well-rested – a few hours of sleep on a plane did wonders. "Did you sleep too?" she asked.

Tom nodded. "I did, but I woke up maybe half an hour ago. I think we were over Ireland then," he said.

The cabin lights were on as people were finally waking up, getting their books and laptops into their carry-ons. The flight attendants with the food cart drew up to their row, and Sybil froze as she realized the one that had noticed her and Tom emerge from the lavatory was coming down their aisle. Sybil felt herself shrink into her seat as the flight attendant slapped their meagre breakfast on their tray tables. "Tea or coffee?"

"Uh, tea …" Sybil squeaked. She said a bit louder, "Sorry, tea."

"Tea for me too, please," Tom said.

The flight attendant nodded as she poured their cups. "Enjoy your flight?"

Both Sybil and Tom hesitated. She sounded like she was prepared to berate them for the wrong answer. "Um … it was very comfortable, thank you," Sybil replied.

The flight attendant smirked as she handed Sybil her tea, as well as two sweetener packets and a tiny milk container. "Lavatory to your liking?"

Sybil gulped. "Quite," she said, sounding strangely like Mary when she was irritated. Surely they weren't they weren't the first people to sneak into an airplane lavatory together. And they hadn't even done anything! She sipped her weak airplane tea and grimaced.

As the flight attendant finally moved away from their row, Tom let out a nervous chuckle. "God, I hope she doesn't have us detained at the gate." He turned to look at Sybil. "You excited to be back home?"

Sybil nodded. "It feels like it's been forever. So much has happened since I've been away." She glanced out the window to watch the plane skim across the morning clouds. "What about you? Happy to be home?"

Tom shrugged. "I think of London as more of a place I work and earn money for rent. My home's always been Ireland. That's where all my family are still."

"Oh," Sybil muttered.

"But I think I'll find it more enjoyable knowing you live here," Tom added. "And what I mean by that is … it would be nice to get together again soon, like grab coffee or go see a movie."

Sybil smiled. "I'd like that very much. When I have the free time, of course. It's hard to come by for a nurse."

"I understand," Tom said. "The hours for a journalist are irregular, and of course I'm always getting shipped off to Dallas or Miami without much warning."

"Well, maybe when we get into the terminal we can hit Starbucks together, grab a couple lattes," Sybil suggested. "That should count for something. And I'm _not_ going to drink any more of this horrid tea anyhow."

Tom laughed. "Yeah, that'll be nice. And I think it can count as a … a date?"

Sybil giggled. "Sure, a date. Our first date. Unless you count last night at the airport bar."

Was this really the start of something between her and Tom? Sybil only felt excitement, and no more hesitation – telling him about her past felt like a real load off her chest, and now she felt ready to start a new relationship. She had no more reservations: she trusted Tom, and he evidently felt much the same about her as she did him. But only time could tell if things would work out, or if their busy schedules would keep them from seeing each other again.

A few minutes later, when the London skyline was finally in sight, the intercom came on again. "Ladies and Gentlemen, in preparation for landing, please stow away all larger electronics and place your seats and tray tables in the upright position. Flight attendants will be coming through to hand out customs forms. Please remain seated with your seatbelts securely fastened until the plane has taxied. On behalf of the whole flight crew and Delta Airlines, we'd like to be the first to welcome you to London, and thank you for choosing to fly with us."

The flight attendants were making a final sweep of the plane, collecting trash and ensuring everyone's seatbelt was securely fastened. The plane began to rock as it lowered to the ground. Sybil closed her eyes and tried to breathe easily – landing always seemed as bad as takeoff. Her hands gripped the armrests, her stomach churning each time the plane dipped a bit too violently for her liking.

When she felt Tom's hand over hers, she relaxed a little, opening her eyes briefly to smile gratefully at him. "Thanks again," she whispered.

"Don't mention it," Tom whispered back. "I hate landings too."

Little by little, the plane lowered closer to the runway, and Sybil watched the buildings around the airport coming into clear view. She could see the cars moving on the road, looking like toys on a track. One of them was probably Mary and Matthew's car, racing towards the airport to be the first of her family to welcome her home.

The ground rushed up to meet the plane, and the cabin shook as the wheels touched the runway. Sybil lurched forward, glad that her seatbelt was still tight across her lap, as the plane rushed down the runway, the engines roaring as they were put into reverse thrust. For half a minute more, the plane tore down the tarmac until it began to perceivably slow down. Sybil breathed a quiet sigh of relief – another flight survived.

The intercom came on one last time as the flight attendant announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Heathrow Airport. If you are returning home, welcome back, and if you are travelling, we hope you enjoy your stay in England. You are now allowed to use your mobile phones, but please do not get up from your seats until the plane has stopped at the gate and the seat belt sign has been turned off. Be careful when opening the overhead bins as luggage may have—"

Everyone seemed to lean forward in their seats, waiting for the exact moment the plane would stop and the seat belt sign would go dark. The plane continued moving towards the gate as Sybil reached down into her bag and fished out her phone, waiting for a few agonizingly long minutes as it turned on. When it finally flickered to life she checked for any messages. There was one from Mary sent only about three minutes ago:

 _Welcome home! Just got to the airport (Matthew thinks he saw the plane from the car). Call us when you're at the gate._

The cabin shook slightly as the engines revved down and the brakes were applied, and finally the seat belt sign went off with a small _ding_ ; at once came the sound of a hundred seat belts buckles unlatching. Everyone jumped to life as the pushed themselves up from their seats, yawning and groaning as they stretched their stiff legs. Tom flipped open his seatbelt buckle and pushed into the aisle, opening up the overhead compartment and pulling down his suitcase and then Sybil's.

"Sorry, could I get some help again?" someone asked. Sybil groaned internally as Sarah Bunting popped into view – she had forgotten all about that woman.

Tom, as always a gentleman, smiled (though it seemed a bit painful) and pushed past the rest of the people in the aisle to where he knew Sarah Bunting's suitcase was. Sybil got up from her seat to hang on to her suitcase, watching Tom struggle to get Sarah's case down.

"You know that book you gave me?" Sarah said to Tom. "I'm already halfway through it. It's _so_ good, and so thought provoking."

"Really?" Tom said with a grunt as he got the heavy case down to the floor. "I'm glad you like it."

"I was so glad to finally read it. I'm going to really take what it says to heart," Sarah continued.

Sybil rolled her eyes. _Please don't start right now_.

"I'm sure you'll have no trouble finding the right person with that book," Tom said sardonically.

Sarah didn't pick up on his sarcasm and smiled smugly. "I'm sure I will. And who knows – maybe I already have."

Tom blinked in confusion.

"Are they going to open the doors already?" Sybil said loudly. "I cannot wait to get out of this plane!"

Tom laughed. "I agree."

Sarah quirked an eyebrow. "Yes, it does seem rather slow." It wasn't enough to deter her from keeping Tom's attention. "I was wondering if you'd write down your email or your phone number in her – I'd like to return the favour."

"Well, er – alright," Tom said. Sarah supplied him with a pen as he jotted down a number inside the cover of the book. "There you go."

"Thanks so much," Sarah grinned. "Perhaps we might get together sometime? I live over in Croydon, so I'm within the city."

Tom glanced awkwardly at Sybil. "I, er … well, I'm usually very busy, so I don't have a lot of time to get together with … with friends."

Sarah shrugged. "That's alright. I'll just call you and say how I liked the rest of the book. If you give me your home address I can send you other books by this author – he's the absolute best."

"Of course … uh, later, though," Tom stammered. "I think we're about to get off."

Sure enough, the passengers towards the front of the plane were beginning to inch forward. "Alright then. Safe travels." Sarah waved her hand in farewell as she pulled her suitcase behind her.

Tom let out a sigh. "I don't want to be rude, but … I'm glad that's over," he whispered to Sybil.

"You gave her your phone number, and she'll probably call it," Sybil pointed out. "I don't think that means it's over."

Tom shook his head, grinning slyly. "I didn't give her my number – I wrote my cousin's mobile number in."

He and Sybil sniggered. "That's going to be a real mess, you know," Sybil said.

"Yeah, I know," Tom shrugged. "Hopefully my cousin will think it's a prank call or something. And if not … I think I'll live. He's not a big guy."

The people closer to them were inching forward now until they were able to walk down the unobstructed aisle. Sybil was finally able to get out of her seat row and into the aisle, taking hold of her suitcase. Tom was in front of her and started towards the front of the plane first, Sybil following close behind. She nodded her thanks as she passed the flight attendants waving goodbye in the front galley and headed up the jetway. Her legs were stiff from disuse – she was used to nights at the hospital when she was up on her feet for hours – and she still felt a tiny bit groggy, so walking up the long jetway seemed to take forever.

She finally passed through the doorway into the terminal, which was already teeming with travellers preparing for early morning flights or those like her who were trudging through after getting off their red-eye flights. Tom had stopped by the counter to wait for her.

"Ready?" he asked.

Sybil was pulling her phone from her pocket. "Just a second. I have to call Mary."

She waited through the ringing for a few seconds before Mary answered with a weary, "Hello?"

"Hi, it's me," Sybil replied. She smiled at the thought that she was soon going to be close enough to Mary to finally talk face-to-face instead of just through a phone receiver. "I just got into the terminal."

"Oh good. Matthew and I are at the baggage reclaim. You should get down here as soon as you can."

"Okay. I'm going to grab some breakfast first," Sybil said.

"How was your flight? Did you get enough sleep?" Mary went on.

Sybil glanced at Tom. "It was, uh … pretty good. I slept a little bit. It sounds like you got less sleep than I did."

Mary moaned. "I didn't get _any_ sleep – not that I thought I would anyway."

Sybil couldn't imagine how Mary would look when she saw her in the baggage reclaim, but she had a good feeling that dark eye bags and a glazed over expression was in the mix. "I'll see you in maybe twenty minutes. If my suitcase comes along in the baggage reclaim, can you get it for me? You know what it looks like, the big blue one with the two pockets in the front."

"Yes, yes," Mary muttered. "Matthew will get them. I'm sitting down with George – _he's_ actually asleep, if you can believe it. Just get here as quick as you can so I can go back home."

"Alright, see you soon." Sybil hung up and looked up at Tom. "Now, about that outing at Starbucks."

Tom grinned. "There's one right across from here that doesn't look too busy."

"In my experience, that usually means it's about to become a madhouse." Sybil stuffed her mobile back into her pocket before taking her suitcase again and leading the way to the Starbucks across from the gate.

As they stood at the counter together, waiting for their lattes, Sybil grabbed a napkin and rummaged around her bag for a pen. Tom watched her scribble something onto the napkin, tearing the flimsy paper in several places. When she handed it to him he saw she had written a series of numbers – her phone number?

"That's my mobile number," she confirmed sheepishly. "Just in case."

Tom took another napkin – accidentally ripping the corner off of it as he wrenched it from the metal holder – and took her pen, writing down his own number. "There you go," he said. "And I promise it's my own, and not my cousin's."

"Thanks," Sybil said, folding up the napkin and putting it in her bag. "I'll … um, I'll try to call you sometime when you aren't busy."

Tom nodded. "I'll try to do the same with you. I realize you'll be busy when you're working at the hospital, but … I mean, if there's ever a time you want to chat …"

"Of course," Sybil replied. "I'll find the time, I promise."

The barista delivered their lattes and they headed towards customs and the baggage reclaim. Sybil didn't have much to declare, only a few small gifts she had bought for her family and some friends, and she and Tom passed through to the baggage reclaim together. She looked around the wide, crowded area for a familiar face – Matthew, or Mary with a baby in her arms – as she headed towards the baggage carousel that was already circulating with suitcases from the flight.

"Can you see your family yet?" Tom asked.

Sybil's vision was a bit fuzzy, but as she approached the baggage carousel, she saw a dark-haired woman sitting on the bench beside it, a baby stroller next to her. Sybil quickened her pace, grinning as she realized that it was in fact Mary sitting there, head bent close to her phone.

"Mary!" she cried.

Mary looked up from her phone, and she smiled as well as she got up to greet her sister with a big hug. "Oh Sybil, darling! You're finally home, thank God."

Sybil held her latte cup high to avoid spilling any as she basked in her sister's welcome embrace – Mary could be warm when she wanted to be. "It feels so good to be back home."

"I'll bet it does," Mary nodded, letting Sybil go. She pointed towards the baggage carousel. "Matthew's been watching out for your case. They just started sending them up a few minutes ago."

Sybil looked to where Matthew was standing, eyes locked onto the moving conveyor belt. His hair was a bit longer than she remembered, but otherwise he looked mostly the same. Mary on the other hand, she thought, had changed drastically. When Sybil had left England, Mary was heavily pregnant, and although her stomach wasn't (as she had put it earlier) as round as a planet anymore, the strains of motherhood were definitely showing. Most notably under her eyes.

She peered into the nearby baby stroller, letting out a little "aww" as she saw her tiny nephew's face for the first time in person. George Crawley was sleeping soundly, completely oblivious to the hustle and bustle around him, snuggled up in a onesie and a hat that looked like the one he might have come home from the hospital in.

"Oh Mary, he's absolutely adorable!" Sybil giggled as George opened his eyes just a tad, flexed his miniscule fingers as if waving 'hello' to her, then closed his eyes again.

"I think he looks just like Matthew," Mary said, beaming. "He's got a bit of blonde hair growing already."

"I hope he didn't keep you up for too long," Sybil said.

Mary shook her head, straggly hair bouncing up and down. " _He_ went right back to sleep after Matthew was done feeding him. Didn't I tell you I was just going to be watching television for the rest of the night? So that's what I did."

Sybil sighed. "Honestly, Mary …"

"It's not my fault I feel tired during the day but can't get a wink of sleep at night!" Mary exclaimed. She collapsed back down onto the bench. "I feel like I'm becoming nocturnal."

"At least you've got Matthew to help you with taking care of him," Sybil said, sitting down next to Mary. "I remember you were saying that he was the one feeding George last night."

Mary nodded, stifling a yawn. "He does the bottle-feeding most nights. He says it's the least he can do since I carried George inside of me for the better part of eight months and then had to push him out of my uterus."

Sybil wasn't sure if Mary's snarkiness was something she had missed, but it made her laugh all the same.

"Well, look it is – the family nurse!" Sybil turned to see Matthew walking towards the bench, dragging her suitcase behind him. She jumped up to throw her arms around him, squealing as he lifted her off the ground.

"Oh for heaven's sake, Matthew, put her down," Mary said, rolling her eyes.

Matthew pretended to grumble. "What, am I not allowed to be excited to see my sister-in-law?" Even so, he set Sybil back down on the floor. "Here's your suitcase, unless there was another Sybil Crawley on the plane."

"No, that is mine," Sybil said, taking the handle from Matthew. "Thanks for getting it."

"No problem. Had a good flight?" Matthew asked.

Sybil started to say that, yes, it was a good flight, but then she realized something – where was Tom? He had been beside her when she came down to the baggage reclaim; he must have drifted off quietly while she was with Mary. She looked towards the baggage carousel, where dozens of the passengers from the flight were crowded around: was Tom there, waiting for his bags, or – her heart sank – had he already left.

"Sybil? What is it?" she heard Mary ask.

"It's … there's something I need to do," Sybil murmured. She let go of her suitcase and headed towards the baggage carousel, with Mary and Matthew watching her in confusion.

She didn't want to leave without saying goodbye to Tom; after all they had been through, it would seem wrong not to at least have some parting words. Sure, they had exchanged phone numbers, but she still didn't want to simply ignore him as she went off with her family. If she did that, it might seem to him that he was only just a seatmate on a flight, destined to be forgotten without a goodbye. He was so much more to her than that – in a matter of hours he had become her friend, and Sybil wasn't going to allow that to vanish all because of her.

She pushed between the passengers and suitcases, searching through all the faces she recognized from the plane – there was Sarah Bunting, quite engrossed in her self-help book – but she couldn't see Tom anywhere. Panic was filling up in her chest – had he already gone? Was he already in a cab, driving away?

 _No, shit_ – _please don't be gone yet_ , Sybil thought. _Tom, where are you_?

She pushed back through the ring of people, looking around the wide area of the baggage reclaim. There were so many people, some that looked vaguely like him. Each second that passed without her seeing him only fueled her dread – how could he just leave her? Didn't _he_ want to say a proper goodbye too?

Mary came up beside her and asked, "Sybil? What's the matter? Did you lose something?"

Sybil felt close to tears, and biting her lip didn't do much to quell them. "I just …"

"Come and sit back down," Mary said, taking her by the arm to lead her back to the bench. "Your exhaustion is catching up, believe me I know—"

"It's not that!" Sybil cried. She wrenched her arm out of Mary's grasp.

"Sybil, what's wrong?"

Sybil rubbed her wet eyes, moaning in frustration. "There's … I was … do you remember the man I told you about last night, the one who I had a drink with while I was waiting for the flight?"

Mary nodded slowly. "Yeah, I remember."

Sybil gulped, feeling her throat dry up. "Well, as it turned out, he was my seatmate on the plane, and … oh God, you're going to think me really childish … I know I only just met him last night, but I like him so much, I honestly do. He's so kind and caring, and … if only he was still here! I wanted to say goodbye to him, but … I can't find him now!"

"Oh, Sybil." Mary pulled Sybil closed as she sniffled through her tears. "It'll be alright."

"No, no it isn't," Sybil moaned into Mary's shoulder. Why, after Tom had been so caring towards her during the flight, why had he left her without saying goodbye? It didn't seem like him at all—

"Sybil?"

Sybil's head shot up as soon as she heard the Irish lilt and turned around. Tom was standing there, his suitcase in his hand, and looking at her worriedly. "Is something the matter?"

With a gasp of relief, Sybil tore away from Mary and rushed straight for Tom, wrapping her arms around him. "Oh my God … I thought you had left already."

Tom blinked in surprise, a little stunned at her sudden but passionate embrace. "Ah, Sybil, don't cry," he coaxed. "You thought I'd leave without saying goodbye?"

Sybil nodded. "I couldn't see you anywhere. You just disappeared."

"I went off to get my suitcase while you were saying hello to your sister," Tom said. "When I got it I was going to go back and say goodbye, but you weren't there anymore."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Sybil said with an embarrassed sniffle. "I went off to find you."

"Well, we've found each other," Tom said. "So … I suppose we have to …"

Sybil's heart sank again. "Yeah, I suppose," she nodded sadly. Even though she knew this wasn't goodbye for forever, it still felt bittersweet. "Well … goodbye, Tom. I hope we can see each other again soon."

She was prepared to hear the same from him, but what he did actually stunned her.

Tom stepped closer to her, put both hands on her shoulders, and gave her a soft kiss on top of her head.

"Bye, Sybil. I hope we can see each other soon too."

Sybil, rendered speechless by the surprise kiss, simply nodded. She didn't take her eyes off of him as he took hold of his suitcase and walked out the sliding doors to the taxi stands.

"Well!" Mary was, naturally, a bit perplexed by all that. "So what exactly happened on that flight that made _that_ happen?"

Sybil shrugged. "So much happened, Mary … I don't know where to begin. It was like fate brought us together."

Mary rolled her eyes but refrained from commenting on Sybil's mysterious statement. "Alright. Let's get your things and go already – I want to go to bed once we get home."

They went back to where Matthew and George were waiting for them, still at the same bench as before. "Everything okay?" Matthew asked Sybil.

Sybil wiped away a stray tear. "Yeah. Everything's okay now."

"Was that a friend of yours?"

Sybil nodded. "Yes, he's a friend – I'm not sure when I'll see him again, but I will."

"That's good," Matthew said. "Right, let's get going."

Mary pushed George's stroller while Matthew wheeled Sybil's suitcase out. As the three of them made their way out of the baggage reclaim and headed towards the car park, Sybil couldn't help but glimpse around at the taxis, hoping just a little that she'd see Tom climbing into one.

 _It's not really goodbye_ , Sybil said to herself. _We_ will _see each other again. It's only the beginning for me and Tom_.

Whatever life was prepared to throw at her now, whether it was a chance a true love or a once-in-lifetime-opportunity, she was ready for it.

 **The End**

* * *

 _I hope you enjoyed this last chapter, however bittersweet I may have made it! So, will Sybil and Tom get together and have a romance? I certainly think they will ;)_


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